


The Wildways

by Tangerine



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Cruelty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Golden Age of Piracy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine
Summary: When an unknown man is kidnapped by the captain and crew ofThe Wildwaysunder the cover of night, Shatterstar becomes entangled with the man's fate and begins to discover the true measure of himself, whether he wants to or not.





	The Wildways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cathybites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/gifts).



> Written for Marvel Trumps Hate 2018. The winning bidder asked for pirates, and I was happy to oblige. :)
> 
> This story is historically accurate... to a point. I read a fair number of books (listed in the end notes), googled obsessively and re-watched _Black Sails_ in its entirety, but I am not an expert. That said, if there was an arbitrary pirate scale, where 1 is _Peter Pan_ , 5 is _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and 10 is _Black Sails_ , this story is at the 10 end of things. 
> 
> See the end notes for further explanations of the Graphic Depictions of Violence, Abuse, Cruelty, and Implied/Referenced Torture tags.

Shatterstar couldn't help but compare how he felt before – blood pumping through his veins, swords eager in his hands – to how he felt after, hollow in the quiet that followed a successful attempt to take over another ship. He found pleasure in the clang of metal against metal. His swords were an extension of himself, as much his limbs as his actual arms were. They had tried to bully him into using a pistol. 

He had refused. 

Even when Major Domo had forced the issue, even when he had been dragged into the captain's cabin, he had refused. But the Captain had, with grace, granted him this one small freedom. 

It was not that he meant to be insolent. His body was a weapon, one he had spent years honing. He would not have it degraded by gunpowder. It was no different from the other vices he avoided – drink, opium, fornication. The Captain had understood that, after a fashion, once Shatterstar explained it.

Shatterstar was asked to explain a lot of things. Having just spent the last several minutes explaining, in precise French, just who these sailors had crossed and what their options were for their future, he turned to asking each man to identify themselves and what their roles were aboard their captured ship. 

Most deigned not to answer. Instead, they attempted to spit in his face, attempts he easily avoided. 

"Is there a surgeon among them?" Major Domo asked in that slow way he always spoke, hands crossed behind his back. It took Shatterstar a moment to realize it was him to whom the Quartermaster spoke. 

"No, sir," Shatterstar replied. 

Major Domo tilted his head slightly. "Pity. I suppose the duty will continue to be yours then."

Shatterstar was neither a surgeon nor a translator, but he had become these things – and more – simply because they were needed on the ship and the others were more concerned with gold, rum and fucking than expanding their own roles. The Captain had always encouraged him to learn; he found it amusing. 

"As you wish, sir."

Major Domo's expression made it clear that it was the last thing he wanted. He lifted a hand and waved Shatterstar away, turning his attention to the spoils of their conquest. Shatterstar watched as he ordered the other men about, efficiently organizing the cargo and their captives into manageable groups.

The Captain came out on deck at last. Major Domo stepped up beside him, holding a lamp. The Captain was a large man, with teeth as white as ivory and a perpetual smile on his face, as if painted on. He could be brutal, like any other Captain, but Shatterstar had never invoked his legendary temper.

The captain of the other vessel – who had made the fatal decision to fight back, damaging _The Wildways_ with cannon-fire – was already dead. Seven members of the crew had surrendered, including the carpenter, which was sorely needed. The rest were tied up with various types of knots, torn between stoicism and begging for their lives. Shatterstar knew how this game ended, even if they did not. 

Once his own crew was safely ensconced on _The Wildways_ , the Captain would set fire to this vessel. 

Only the most determined would survive. The Captain, from a distance, would watch and laugh.

It was a long swim to shore. Shatterstar doubted even he could make it if he tried. It hardly seemed fair.

But then the Captain had never been particularly concerned with playing fair. 

Shatterstar returned to _The Wildways_ , crossing nimbly across one of the narrow ladders slung between the ships. He gathered with the others and watched as the blaze grew from a flicker to an inferno. Only then did Shatterstar finally turn away. His swords hung heavy on his back, cool against his skin. 

The sun, he noticed, squinting at the bright line of the horizon, was already setting. 

Eventually, they resumed course. The other ship had suffered the misfortune of simply being in their way, looking too grand for a man like the Captain to resist. The new crew members were quiet, grouped together, warily observing the activity on deck. Shatterstar thought about offering assurance. Shatterstar had never known any other ship than this one, but he could understand how others might be wary.

Instead, he said nothing, keeping his attention on cleaning his swords as the crew ate their supper around him. He had never been asked to be the cook, but if he ever was, he might take on the role. Their current cook – named Moremeat by the Captain, upon his promotion – was a terrible one. 

Before he could be begged to fiddle until his fingers blistered, Shatterstar headed below deck to his hammock. He had been on the ship for all of his life, the part worth remembering anyway. While he had started off with the worst location, he'd finally ended up with the best. Tucked away in the corner, giving the illusion of privacy, but with a full view of the entry. Settling on his back, he closed his eyes. 

He'd killed men today. He added their faces to the list he kept in his head. He would remember them.

* * *

They sailed for another three days before they anchored. They were, as far as Shatterstar could tell, somewhere west of Havana. The sun was relentless. For once, he let the men beneath him in rank do most of the busywork. He sat in the shade, sharpening his blades, as the ship listed gently in the water.

Bloodblade sat down beside him, barefoot and filthy. He leaned into Shatterstar's space with a grin. "Fancy a practice bout, you lazy bastard, or are you too busy protecting your delicate skin?"

"I'll cut your tongue out if you speak like that to me again," Shatterstar warned him. 

"I'd like to see you try," Bloodblade said with an interested look. He lifted his chin. "So what say you? I'm bored enough to clean the Captain's chamber pot. I'll even fight with one of your swords." 

"Bold of you to assume I'd lend you one."

"I know how you feel about my daggers," Bloodblade replied. He snatched one of Shatterstar's swords before he could stop him, jumping up and parrying a few times with the weapon. Shatterstar knew nothing about Bloodblade's past, but he often thought he must have been highborn. He had the fighting form of a fencer. "It's not size that makes a man, but I'll grant you that this sword is a thing of beauty." 

Shatterstar rose to his feet. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Bloodblade grinned again. "Only once I'm dead," he assured him. 

"I look forward to that day," Shatterstar said blandly as Bloodblade threw back his head and laughed.

They found a suitable spot on the ship – a place with no cover, the sun unrelenting – and set to play-fighting. Bloodblade could only be trusted not to permanently maim. Like Shatterstar, he knew the limits of the human body and would not hesitate to draw blood. Shatterstar, likewise, held nothing back. He parried and lunged and did his best to bring him to his knees. A crowd began to gather.

"A shilling on Shatterstar," Firststrike shouted, which started a round of betting. Shatterstar declined the invite to make a wager, though Bloodblade bet all of his share from the French ship on himself. It was a fool's wager, in Shatterstar's opinion, since Bloodblade, for all his bravado, was better with daggers.

"Your arrogance is my least favourite thing about you," Bloodblade told him, sweat pouring down his face, skin glistening with moisture. His hair, loose down his back, sagged with the weight of the humidity. He dragged a bloody hand across his mouth. Shatterstar had cut him on his upper arm. 

"It is not arrogance if it is the truth," Shatterstar told him. Bloodblade had landed a slash against his chest, and his skin smarted where the damp salt air touched it. "Call the match. Be done with it."

"Can't," Bloodblade replied. "This is too much fun." He spat on the deck. "I'll make you bleed again." 

Shatterstar almost betrayed a smile. "No, you won't."

"You fucking bastard," Bloodblade swore, grinning like a feral cat, and lunged forward. 

Shatterstar fought as hard as he could. It was not in him to lose, even in a practice match. Bloodblade matched him strike for strike, though his movements were slower, less precise and waning with each minute. He thought they might have killed each other if Bloodblade had not finally gone to his knees.

"Bravo!" the Captain called from where he watched from the poop deck. He clapped his hands. Shatterstar glanced up at him, the salt from his perspiration making his eyes sting. Bloodblade slowly rose to his feet, swaying. "Bravo," he repeated, looking fondly upon them. "My greatest treasures." 

Shatterstar bowed his head slightly, accepting the compliment. Beside him, Bloodblade did the same.

* * *

Shatterstar's eyes snapped open. One of the cabin boys stood beside his hammock, expression guarded. The boy knew better than to touch him to wake him. "Major Domo has need of you," he whispered.

Shatterstar nodded, and the boy scurried away. He swung his legs over the side of his canvas bed, taking a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes before pulling on a shirt. Around him, the rest of the crew snored softly, with the occasional rustle of clothing and, in two cases, the unmistakable sound of a hand on flesh. Both men had the presence of mind to pause their ministrations until Shatterstar was away. 

Port side, Major Domo stood with four other crew members at the rail of the ship. They stopped talking as he stepped onto the deck. Major Domo held a lamp in his hand, the only source of light. Clouds had moved in and completely covered the moon, resulting in an absolute and impenetrable darkness. 

"Are you waiting for an invitation?" Major Domo asked when he noticed Shatterstar had progressed no further. Shatterstar didn't know what was going on, and he had learned to be wary of situations like this. 

"No, sir," he said. 

Shatterstar stepped up to the group, ignoring the way one of them – Sharpeye, who spent most of his time in the crow's nest and who, in Shatterstar's opinion, often lacked in his position – glared at him. "At the Captain's request, Shatterstar, you will keep watch until these men return from their errand."

Sharpeye exhaled sharply. "He's got one fucking eye," he snapped then added blithely, " _sir_."

Shatterstar felt the anger rise in him, violent like a storm, but Major Domo replied before he could. "And the Captain believes he sees better with one eye than you do with two. I am loathed to agree. It is not just sight we will require tonight. With this cloud cover, we are all essentially blind. Understood?" 

Sharpeye spat on the ground, narrowing missing the toe of Shatterstar's foot. "Fucking Captain's pet." 

"Be better at your job," Shatterstar said, blood roaring through his ears as he struggled to temper down his feelings, "and perhaps I would not be woken in the dead of night to cover for your deficiencies."

"Enough, the two of you," Major Domo said, his voice taking on an edge of authority. "Unless you both desire a flogging and then I would be more than happy to provide it. The Captain does love a good show. And need I add, if this mission is a failure at any step, the Captain will be _greatly_ displeased."

"Yes, sir," Sharpeye muttered, eyes cast down. 

"My apologies, sir," Shatterstar added, with a slight bow of his head.

Major Domo sighed. "If you are not back before the sun rises, we leave without you. Understood?"

All four crew members nodded. Shatterstar stood back as they dropped a boat into the water then lowered a ladder down to it. Eventually, Major Domo came beside him and extinguished the lamp. In the darkness, Shatterstar closed his eyes and listened to the scene around him: his own breath, the faint wheeze in Major Domo's, the cut of oars through water, the faintest sound of waves lapping the hull.

"They are ashore," he said, after a time. 

"Very good," Major Domo replied. He turned away, his boots loud against the wooden planks of the ship's deck. Shatterstar almost flinched with the suddenness of it. Major Domo pressed the lamp at him, hitting his hip, and Shatterstar took it. "Summon one of the cabin boys to wake me once they return."

"Of course, sir."

"Such loyal obedience," Major Domo replied. 

Shatterstar said nothing in return. It didn't sound like a compliment.

* * *

Shatterstar sat cross-legged aboard the deck for hours. From time to time, someone emerged from below deck to take a piss over the rail, but for the most part, he remained alone. The moon stayed hidden from sight, though he thought he saw hints of it from time to time when the wind moved. 

At last, he heard the slice of oars in the water. Blind, he lit the lamp, reducing the flame to almost nothing. He listened for other sounds… voices in pursuit, the thump of footfalls on the sand, but there was nothing beyond the whisper of his own breath and the glide of the boat through the water. 

Once he was sure the boat was near the ship, he took a moment to wake one of the cabin boys from their pile just inside the crew's quarters. The youngest of them, a nameless boy with a tangle of dark hair and distrustful eyes, listened to his murmured message then scurried off to rouse Major Domo.

Back on the deck, he guided the boat aside _The Wildways_. He extinguished the lamp then carefully lowered a ladder, keeping his noise to a minimum. He still listened for anything that would hint towards retaliation, but other than a low moan and the soft rise of barely-formed waves, nothing. 

"We need a rope as well," a voice from the darkness said, barely above a whisper. 

Shatterstar dutifully tossed one down.

Sharpeye climbed the ladder first then worked alongside Shatterstar to haul their cargo aboard. It was, Shatterstar discovered, a man. His feet were bound together at the ankles; his hands, at the wrists. Shatterstar's fingers dug into flesh as he lifted the prone body over the rail, dragged onto the ship by the rope tied under his arms. Before Shatterstar could stop him, Sharpeye let the man drop onto the deck.

Major Domo came up to them then, the cabin boy beside him. The child held another barely lit lamp above his head, his thin arms wobbling with the weight of it. Major Domo stared down at the man for a long time then nodded as if satisfied with the scene before him. "Take our guest to the Captain."

"He's bleeding, sir," Shatterstar said suddenly, aware of the slick dampness on his hands, too thick to be water, and the metallic smell that now hung over all of them like a putrid fog. "Profusely," he added.

"Not life threatening, sir," Sharpeye chimed in quickly before Major Domo could respond. Shatterstar glanced at him and noticed, for the first time, how battered his face was. His nose was clearly broken. "He put up a fight. We did what we had to in order to subdue him, but we didn't hurt him, not mortally." 

"I suppose it was to be expected," Major Domo said after a pause. "That changes nothing. Come."

The man moaned as they lifted him. Shatterstar watched as they carried him off then headed below deck to return to his sleep. He lay there for a long time in his hammock, staring into the darkness.

* * *

The ship was back at sea when Shatterstar woke again. He took the time to wash his hands, working the rust-coloured blood out from beneath his fingernails. After a quick breakfast, he joined the crew on deck and set to his duties for the day. The foremast needed repair. He was glad for the distraction.

There had been a lot of blood. The man had been his age and had clearly been taken against his will.

It was not Shatterstar's place to wonder who he was, yet he found his thoughts drifting as he worked. They never operated under the secrecy of shadows. The Captain preferred bold manoeuvres, displays of grandeur mixed with shows of brutal force. They made for a better tale; the Captain thrived on stories. 

Midday, when the sun was at its highest, Bloodblade climbed the netting and joined him on the mast. 

"The Captain is looking for you," Bloodblade told him, plucking the hammer from his hand. "I've been tasked with relieving you. The rumour among the men is we have a guest aboard, plucked from the shores in the middle of the night. I'm told it was you who kept watch well into the early hours."

Shatterstar kept his expression blank. 

Bloodblade smiled, the tattooed corners of his eyes crinkling. "Calm yourself," he said, leaning forward but not touching him. "I know better than to ask you what happened. It was just an idle comment."

"They would do better to mind what they say when it comes to the Captain's business."

Bloodblade shrugged. "It's a lesson to be learned. They'll either learn it quickly or wish they had."

Shatterstar glanced away. "You shouldn't speak like this with me."

"You better go then." Bloodblade smiled faintly when Shatterstar's gaze returned. As usual, Shatterstar could not read his true intention in his eyes, too hidden behind humour. "The Captain is impatient."

Shatterstar climbed down the shroud, settling lightly upon the deck. Ignoring the curious looks of the crew, he went the captain's cabin, rapping softly upon the door. It opened under the cautious gaze of the same cabin boy who had woken him the night before. Shatterstar stepped into the ornate room.

"Ah, Shatterstar," the Captain said, face lighting up with delight. The table was set with an abundance of food and plateware, gold glittering on every solid surface. "Come. Sit with me a moment. Wine?"

"No thank you, sir," Shatterstar replied, settling himself into the closest chair. He crossed his hands in his lap, keeping his spine straight and his feet flat on the floor. Amidst the lavish decor of the captain's cabin, he felt out of place, reminded of his lowly place on the ship. He also knew it was intentional.

"We have a guest aboard, as you well know," the Captain told him, digging a fork into his plate and bringing a piece of salted fish to his smiling mouth. His teeth clamped down on the flesh, tearing it apart. "There is a language barrier between us, and I fear my intentions might have been... misconstrued." The Captain finished chewing then took a drink of wine. "I have reason to believe our guest holds valuable information. _Very_ valuable. It would delight me to receive that information."

Shatterstar said nothing. He knew better than to answer anything less than a direct question.

The Captain tore a loaf of bread into two, taking a tentative bite before tossing it away in disgust. One of the cabin boys quickly ducked under the table to retrieve it; the Captain did not abide messes. "Some of your crewmates were a tad... rough with him. _Unkind_. It's understandable that he might be wary." 

Shatterstar still said nothing. He kept every part of himself locked in place. 

"How is your Spanish, Shatterstar?" the Captain asked suddenly. "Still serviceable?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent," the Captain said, sitting back. "Domo will take you to him. Please tell our guest what I have told you and tend to the wounds he has received. Show him that there are reasonable men aboard this ship. Hardworking men who only want to survive in a world that is designed to do them harm. Will you tell him this, Shatterstar, and extend a hand of kindness so that he may feel better about everything?"

Though his tone was light, a deeply unsettled feeling formed in Shatterstar's belly. "I will, sir," he said.

The Captain smiled. "You never disappoint me, do you, Shatterstar?"

"No, sir."

"What a gift you are," the Captain murmured, waving him away with a flick of the hand. Major Domo stepped out from the shadows and looked pointedly at the door until Shatterstar stood and moved towards it. Hiding his annoyance, Shatterstar walked past him, only breathing once he was outside.

It wasn't that he disliked the Captain. His feelings towards him didn't feel that simple. But whatever they were, Shatterstar had never found the right words to describe them, if they even existed at all.

* * *

After stopping to gather his surgeon's tools, Major Domo brought him to one of the rooms in the unused officer's quarters. Other than Major Domo, the Captain preferred all his crew to remain together, regardless of rank. Major Domo unlocked the door, gesturing impatiently at Shatterstar to enter. He stepped inside, taking note of the smell of blood in the air, as the door locked behind him.

The man, now fully conscious, looked up. The entire right side of his face was dark with blood, his shoulder-length hair matted thickly with it. Shatterstar could see the split of skin from here, jagged and ugly. It was not the type of wound to close on its own. If left unattended, it would surely fester.

A short chain had been latched around his ankle. Long enough to allow him to stand and to use the piss pot in the corner, but short enough to keep him away from the door. The filthy window let minimal light into the room. How long had they left him bleeding in the dark? Shatterstar wondered, kneeling.

The man stared beyond him as if Shatterstar was not there at all. 

"I'm here to tend your wounds," Shatterstar told him in Spanish. "I'm the ship's surgeon."

The man looked at him, dark gaze raking over his body, and then he did the most peculiar thing. The man scoffed, as if something he had seen amused him, and rolled his eyes. He didn't say anything, just turned his head away. In profile, with his injury hidden, he was quite handsome. The thought came to him unbidden, and once it was fully formed in his head, Shatterstar didn't know how to push it away. 

But he really was quite handsome. 

Shatterstar uncorked a bottle of rum and pushed it at him. "Drink," he said when the man failed to respond to the gesture. "It'll numb the pain." He made another attempt, but the man ignored him again. Shatterstar didn't try a third time. Instead, he dipped a cloth into the water he had brought and put it on the man's face. The man's face snapped in his direction, but he allowed Shatterstar to clean his wound.

"I have to stitch it," Shatterstar told him.

The man stared at him and said nothing in return. 

Shatterstar picked up the bottle of rum again and poured some of it directly over the cut. The man, to his credit, didn't so much as twitch, eyes locked on Shatterstar's face. With a careful hand, Shatterstar threaded a needle then began sewing the edges of the man's skin together. He tried to be quick about it.

"There will be a scar, but it will, for the most part, be covered by your hairline," Shatterstar said, knotting the catgut. He sliced the end off with his knife. Dipping his fingers into one of his salves, he spread it over the uneven line of the cut. The man continued to watch him, dark eyes through a veil of even darker hair, as Shatterstar bandaged his head. Shatterstar sat back on his heels. "Are you injured elsewhere?" 

The man looked at him. His gaze – dark as pitch, hot with fury – held Shatterstar mesmerized. 

"I will have to check for myself, if you do not tell me," Shatterstar added as a warning. 

The man lifted his chin slightly, defiant, and Shatterstar tried not to look too happy at finally drawing another reaction from him. Leaning forward, Shatterstar lifted the edge of his shirt to reveal a purpled abdomen. With the flat of his hand, he pressed softly against the swollen flesh and carefully felt for any obvious hardening. The man watched him, silent as ever, but Shatterstar saw the tightness in his jaw. 

"My apologies," Shatterstar told him, pulling his hand away. "You will recover with time."

The man looked away again. 

"The Captain can be a reasonable man. If you just give him the information he wants..." Shatterstar trailed off, realizing he had no idea if he had anything to bargain with. He didn't know who this man was. His look was unfamiliar. If he shared blood with anyone Shatterstar had set eyes on before, he didn't see them in the lines of his handsome face. "Tell him what you know, and this will all be over."

The man snorted but said nothing, gazed fixed on the wall in front of him, away from Shatterstar. 

Shatterstar, knowing defeat when he saw it, packed his bag and went to tell the Captain of his failure.

* * *

Shatterstar tried to put the man out of his mind. The ship spent more days at sea before finally dropping anchor in the waters at Nassau. Shatterstar and three others were separated from the crew, who were given leave to spend the day on shore, spending their shares how they wished to. Shatterstar tried not to think of it as a punishment – he was often singled out for protection duties – but it felt like it was.

"I hope this doesn't take all day," Bloodblade remarked. "I was hoping to get my prick wet."

Gunrage looked up from where he was loading his sixth pistol, grinning, while Killfire just snorted. 

"You should come with me," Bloodblade added, dropping his voice to speak directly to Shatterstar. If Gunrage and Killfire were still listening, they gave no indication. "If you're shy, we can share a lady, and I'll teach you everything I know." Bloodblade leaned into him. "Unless you have other plans..."

"I do," Shatterstar assured him, refusing to look in his direction and acknowledge his grin.

"Captain on deck," Major Domo announced, coming out of the captain's cabin. 

Shatterstar and Gunrage descended first then watched as the Captain slowly made his way down. It had always been implied that the two sent first were responsible for his safety, but Shatterstar had always wondered what exactly that meant. Catching a falling man from a boat at sea was beyond even him.

Fortunately, this time, as with all the others, the Captain made it safely to the boat. They got him settled as Major Domo came down behind him, with Bloodblade and Killfire taking up the rear. It was they who settled at the oars and rowed them ashore as Shatterstar stood lookout and Gunrage, pistol-ready.

The day, predictably, was boring. There were no attempts made on the Captain's life, and the heat was unrelenting. Shatterstar stood at the window, sweat beading down his face. Without a breeze, his hair suffocated him. The skin where his eye-patch sat itched. The more he ignored it, the worse it became.

Nathan had promised his new swords would be ready by now. Shatterstar was eager to see them.

From across the room, Bloodblade met his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. 

As usual, Shatterstar ignored him.

* * *

The Captain's errands ran late into the day. By the time Shatterstar was dismissed from duty, the sun had already set. He chanced a stop at Nathan's place of work, on the off chance the old man was still working and was pleased to see the light from his forge. Nathan looked up as he approached, his hammer paused mid-strike. With a gruff noise, he set it down and moved towards a locked chest. 

"Still with Mojo?" Nathan asked, springing the lock and opening the lid. 

"Yes," Shatterstar replied. 

Nathan grunted but declined to give his opinion on the matter.

Shatterstar didn't need it. He knew where Nathan stood: rooted firmly in disapproval. He had never given a reason, and Shatterstar had never asked. Nathan was a man of few words anyway, which Shatterstar appreciated. The gossip was he had once had a wife and a son, and lost both to tragedy. 

They had never spoken about that either. 

Shatterstar knew they kept secrets from each other, but Shatterstar liked him all the same. Trusted him, as much as he trusted anybody in this world, because they were both half-men who had proved beyond question that missing something important – a functioning eye, a workable arm – didn't have to matter. 

Shatterstar watched with keen interest as Nathan carefully put the cloth-wrapped package on the table. The metal device around Nathan's arm that gave it strength and movement groaned as he bent it, fingers unwrapping the canvas from the swords and revealing them to Shatterstar's inquisitive gaze. 

"You asked me to do the impossible."

"But you did it," Shatterstar prompted.

Nathan sighed deeply. "But I did it. I would caution against using these in battle before I've made adjustments. The balance feels wrong to me, though I still can't pinpoint the issue. Perhaps you can."

"They're beautiful," Shatterstar breathed, brushing his fingers over the hilt of one. "May I?"

He shrugged. "They're yours. I'm just the old man who humoured your delusions."

Nathan had crafted these swords exactly as Shatterstar had envisioned them: polished steel, mid-length, double-bladed. He took them in his hands, testing the weight of them, then lunged at the air. He could see what Nathan meant – the balance felt off – but Shatterstar felt powerful with them all the same. 

"Have you eaten?" Nathan asked, watching him, eyes fixed on Shatterstar's movements. 

Shatterstar shook his head. He struck out at the air again. These blades were truly incredible.

"Come on then," Nathan said gruffly, gesturing to the back of his workshop where he lived. 

They sat by his hearth, eating a satisfying meal of beef stew and fresh-baked tarts. It was a small, comfortable room, made for living, and it was so far away from anything Shatterstar had ever known that it made him slightly uncomfortable. He'd spent half of his life in a swaying hammock aboard a ship and before that, he'd slept on the floor in a house that had never been his home. Trying to imagine anything different – anything better – was impossible. But sometimes... he did find himself wondering.

* * *

After the meal, he thanked Nathan for his hospitality and his new swords then left to visit one of the local medicine women. There, he exchanged coin for a variety of herbs, oils and more catgut. He knew he had woken Cecilia from her bed and was deeply apologetic about it, but she insisted he stay for tea. 

Since he was self-taught, he was also eager to learn more about healing. Not that he particularly relished the role of surgeon – he didn't, he didn't have the temperament for it, and if he had to look at one more diseased prick, he would be tempted to pluck out his last good eye – but he wanted to be _good_. At everything he did, he wanted to good. Not serviceable, not average, but legitimately _good_. 

"Thank you for your time," Shatterstar said as Cecilia led him to the door. 

"Always," she assured him, smiling warmly. "I'll be interested to see what you have to say about that book I gave you. Doctor McCoy is regarded as an eccentric, but I have to admit... his ideas are intriguing."

"I look forward to debating his theories with you."

Cecilia smiled again and bid him good night. He didn't move until he heard the click of her lock. 

Shatterstar took his new book and his new swords back to the ship, setting them alongside his other three sets. He imagined the teasing he would endure from the rest of the crew, but they would stop laughing when they saw how he used them. He would be even more feared, even quicker to kill. It was easy to be cocksure when you were not the one leading the charge onto an unknown enemy vessel.

It was easier to rest on your laurels, when the Captain's eyes weren't constantly on you, smiling.

* * *

He was on watch when a sleep-dazed Firststrike stumbled onto the deck. Shatterstar watched idly as he climbed up to the crow's next to inform him that the Captain wanted to see him. He was barefoot and half-undressed, the hem of his shirt tucked into the back of his breeches, rustling like a flag in the wind. 

"Major Domo was in a right mood about it, too," Firststrike added mutinously, rubbing his fingers along the lines of his lids. "Threatened me with a flogging if I moved too slow for his liking." 

Heeding his warning, Shatterstar descended quickly down the shroud, landing lightly in front of the captain's cabin. He knocked and the door opened. The Captain sat at his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He waved Shatterstar in closer with fingers adorned with golden rings, heavy with expensive jewels. 

"Our guest has been somewhat reckless with his own health," he said. "It appears that the wound you stitched for him has festered," the Captain added, staring at him with unsmiling eyes, though his overall countenance remained jovial. Shatterstar did not trust it. "I thought you better than that, Shatterstar."

Shatterstar said nothing, ignoring the flicker of irritation he felt at the Captain's words. 

The Captain tapped his fingers on the desk. "You will tend to him until he is well. Your other duties will be reassigned." A dark expression crossed the Captain's face, the corners of his mouth easing from the perpetual smile. "If he still does not eat, feed him. Remind him how long a man can live on water alone. How unpleasant and uncomfortable it can be. And he _will_ have water, Shatterstar. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Our guest has been a challenge," the Captain admitted, his expression quickly lightening. "But I will be the first to admit his wilfulness has entertained. It is far more than I expected from him, having heard the rumours about his character. I suppose that just goes to prove the stories aren't always true." 

Shatterstar stared at a point behind the Captain's head. There was a smudge of something – probably blood, he decided, based on the colour and trajectory of the stain – on the wall. As for whose blood it was... that was none of his business. He shifted his gaze to an emptier spot, where it was safer to look.

"I imagine he has heard stories about _The Wildways_. About me." The Captain's voice cracked with some weird emotion Shatterstar could not name. "But I cannot be lenient with him. I cannot show his type weakness. Yet kindness can be a weapon if wielded correctly. Trust can be a powerful tool." 

Shatterstar risked a glance at him, and the Captain's smiled widened. 

"I don't need to remind you how important this is to me, do I, Shatterstar?" 

"No, sir."

"Good. I didn't think so. You are dismissed," the Captain said with another wave his adorned hand. 

Shatterstar gathered his tools, sparing a look towards his new swords, then wasted time arguing with Moremeat over the food rations. Shatterstar wanted to tell him that he wasn't trying to take anything away, that this wasn't at all meant to diminish him, but Moremeat wouldn't have listened anyway. 

In the end, he took the scraps that Moremeat gave him and hoped they were, at the very least, edible.

He went to check on his patient.

The room had taken on the sweet scent of sickness. The man sat by the grimy window, head tipped against the glass. His skin shone slick with sweat, and his cheeks had hollowed noticeably. Rage rose up in him like wildfire, threatening to overwhelm his senses. This was not a new illness, but one that had been left to rot. Shatterstar didn't know which of them was being punished, but one of them was. 

Shatterstar set everything he had brought with him down on the table by the door. Carefully, he set things in piles, to be used in specific order. He would tend to the man first, exhaust them both, then attempt to water and feed him. If he still had fight in him after that... Shatterstar glanced at him again. 

Resistance would not, he decided quickly, be of any concern. 

The man looked as if he had aged ten years in a single week. Several of the stitches had split, which meant someone had tampered with them. Shatterstar would not have made such an amateur mistake. That earlier flicker of irritation tickled at him again, but he refused to let the feeling fully form. 

_Why_ it had happened no longer matter. Shatterstar would rectify the situation because he had to. Because he had no stomach when it came to watching people needlessly suffer. If a swift death could not be achieved, then he would do the next best thing. He would restore this man to his previous health.

If the man would let him of course. So far he seemed the stubborn type, unfortunately for them both. 

The first thing Shatterstar did was kneel at the man's feet and easily pick the lock of the shackle clasped around his ankle. It clattered to the floor. The man watched him with a wary gaze, and Shatterstar tried to keep his expression neutral, as close to kind as he knew how to be, which was not very close at all. Shatterstar wasn't a kind man; he was a weapon, a lethal one, forged to fight at the Captain's demand.

His second action was to guide the man away from the window and down to the bed. He fought back at that attempt, arms failing out weakly, pushing him away, but Shatterstar grabbed each one by the wrist and held him still for several moments before letting him go. When the man tried again, Shatterstar simply repeated the action. Over and over, this scene continued until the man finally relented. 

Shatterstar laid him down gently onto the mattress, blocking one last strike at his face with a firm hand. 

"I will not harm you." Shatterstar spoke directly to him, meeting his eyes. "You have my word, but you must stop fighting me. Please," he added as if that would somehow make a difference. Slowly, he laid the man's arm at his side and held it there for a moment. "Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation." 

The look the man gave him was murderous, but he kept his arm down and did not fight back again. 

This brought him back to his earlier dilemma: he did not know how to be kind. He had clearly failed to come anywhere close last time. But he had no choice. He had to attempt it, even if the outcome looked dire. This man was too young to die like this, wasting away. He deserved a chance to die on his feet. 

Or a chance to live. He supposed that was the best outcome. He should have thought of it first.

But the man was very sick. He burned hot under Shatterstar's wrist when he laid it over his brow. The smell from the wound was deeply unpleasant. If it continued to fester, if Shatterstar could not stop the spread of the disease, he would live the rest of his life disfigured. Which was not the end of the world, of course, except he was just so handsome. Even with sunken cheeks and waxy skin, he was handsome.

Shatterstar dipped one of his clothes into a bowl of fresh water. It made more sense to begin cleaning the wound immediately, but instead, he laid it over his forehead. The man exhaled in relief, those eyes dark eyes blinking closed for a long second. His tongue snaked out and wet his visibly parched lips. 

It had been the right choice, Shatterstar decided then, as the man finally submitted to his care.

* * *

For a second time, he offered the man rum. Again, he refused. Shatterstar was not at all surprised. 

Carefully, Shatterstar began to pluck the broken stitches out of his swollen, fevered skin. It was too late to replace them. What had once been a clean, neatly sewed line was now uneven and ugly. He knew the exposed parts would eventually scab over. If the man even made it that far. The wound had gone putrid. 

It was a long, arduous process to disinfect and clean the area. The man remained stoic through most of the ordeal, breathing forcibly even, eyes pinched closed. He had impossibly long lashes, fanned darkly over his skin. He still didn't speak, but he did hold the bowl as Shatterstar flushed his wound with water. He had packed cloth around the man's head, to catch the overflow so he could easily study it. 

As the water shifted from brown to pink, Shatterstar felt the heaviness in his stomach begin to ease. 

Once the worst of it was gone, Shatterstar sat back on his heels and examined the infected wound. It would benefit from a poultice, he decided and set to making one that he had learned from Cecilia. He then wrapped the man's head with strips of clean bandages and resolved to check again in a few hours.

Satisfied with his efforts, he began to wash his hands of the filth they were covered in.

The man watched him with a guarded expression. "Why bother?" he rasped out, in Spanish. Shatterstar looked at him, startled that he had finally spoken. "I'm dead regardless. What difference does it make?"

Shatterstar met his wary gaze and made a quick decision. "My continued survival is now tied to yours," he admitted, also in Spanish, choosing to tell the truth instead of the lie. He ignored everything else the man had said because he had no believable answers for him. "My Captain does not tolerate failure." 

The man snorted. "And my death would be your failure?"

"Evidently," Shatterstar replied before he could stop himself. 

It was, Shatterstar noticed, the right answer as the man relaxed again. He had soaked through his blood-stained shirt, the same one he had come aboard in. Shatterstar made a mental note to replace it as soon as he could. Cleanliness _did_ make a difference in outcomes, even if no one seemed to agree with him. 

"What ridiculous name did you get saddled with? Redballs? Seascream? Fishstick?"

"Shatterstar," he said tightly, shaking the water from his hands. 

"Better than Fishstick, I suppose," the man murmured, tone lacking any real bite. He was clearly exhausted from the treatment, though Shatterstar had tried to be careful with him. Again, Shatterstar wondered who he was and how he had come to be on _The Wildways_. The man didn't strike him as fool enough to cross paths with the Captain intentionally, though his mouth alone might have led him there.

Shatterstar uncorked a bottle of water. The man's expression grew wary again. The idea of forcing the water down his throat was unpalatable. While he understood what the man was attempting to do, it was no longer an option. Surely the man could see that. Shatterstar could – and would – overpower him.

"This can be easy," he told him, "or this can be hard. It is your choice. But I am not your enemy."

"Don't worry," the man replied, cracked lips twisting bitterly. "I know a dog when I see one."

Shatterstar tried not to flinch, but the words stung in a way he hadn't expected. It wasn't the first time someone had said something similar to him. A walk through Nassau usually resulted in worse. He had long ago stopped listening, though occasionally he answered the call for retaliation. Others, like Bloodblade and Firststrike, seemed to live for the excuse. But coming from this man... he didn't like it.

* * *

In the end, the man drank. 

"Give me the fucking water," he said, draining the bottle in one breath as Shatterstar held it to his parched lips. Before the strength finally left him, he ate a bit of the broth, which had gone cold and strangely gelatinous, and took a few bites of biscuit. Once he was asleep, Shatterstar finally let himself exhale. He didn't know if any of that had been kind, but at least he had done what the Captain asked. 

He cleaned his tools and corked his bottles. He ate the rest of the broth, vile as it was, then slept for as long as his body would let him, sitting up, chin down, back against the bed. In part, he wanted to be able to feel if the man moved, but mostly, he was exhausted and he simply fell asleep like that. 

His dreams were a chaotic, incomprehensible mess of images. He kept waking from them, confused, dazed, before remembering what had happened and where he was. The third time, he just stayed awake. He took advantage of the peace – the man was slumbering fitfully, sweating so much that the mattress beneath him had soaked through with perspiration – and carefully peeled away the man's bandage. 

As he worked, the man moaned but did not wake. Shatterstar could feel the heat radiating from his skin without touching him. He wet another cloth and laid it over his face, on the uninjured side. With careful fingers, he smoothed water over the man's cracked lips. When he moaned again, Shatterstar stopped and switched his attention to replacing the poultice with a fresh one, carefully packing the wound.

When he was finished, he sat back and scrutinized his work. Technically, it was fine, but the man showed no improvement from earlier. If anything, he felt hotter, looked paler. That was worrisome.

Shatterstar wasn't a healer, not in the very sense of the word. He knew how to saw off a limb without destroying the man, treat an inflamed prick without it leading to madness, reduce sea sickness in those who hadn't found their legs yet. He knew how to put a suffering man out of his misery. But this...

He felt like he had no control over this situation. He didn't like that. He thought, quick, without warning, _the Captain should have been more careful_ , then looked around guiltily, as if there was someone to notice his mutiny. But it was just him and this man, who hadn't even told him his name. 

All at once, Shatterstar longed to be on deck, without the others, free from this obligation. 

This man – this sick, nameless, _handsome_ man – had the potential to destroy him. 

It felt deeply unfair. 

Bloodblade opened the door to the room, making a face. The smell, Shatterstar was willing to admit, was unpleasant, the sweet scent of rot unmistakable, though he no longer noticed the worst of it. 

"Moremeat has been in a rage all day, so I would eat that only if you truly must. I think he might have pissed in it," he said, dropping a bowl of steaming stew on the table with a loaf of bread. He glanced briefly at the man on the bed but didn't comment, his gaze sliding away. "Do you need anything?" 

"Fresh water. More blankets. Three of my books, if you think you can manage to find the right ones."

"I know what a fucking book looks like," Bloodblade snapped, and Shatterstar held up a hand.

"I have a lot of them," he said peaceably, "and you have only found half of my hiding spots."

The faintest smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and Shatterstar knew all was well between them again. "How will I know which ones then? And will I finally find ones with naked drawings in them?"

"Two of them have green covers. One has the image of a stag on the spine and is the width of two fingers. The other has many letters on the cover, over five rows, and is roughly as wide as your hand. The third is brown, and it's new. It will also smell different. All three are with my new swords." Shatterstar sighed as Bloodblade stared at him imploringly. "No is the answer to your second question."

"You are cruel beyond belief," Bloodblade told him. "I know you have them."

Shatterstar merely shrugged. He did possess a single anatomy book, but if he loaned it out, he knew he would either never get it back or, worse, have it returned half soaked in semen. It had been hard to get. 

Bloodblade left with one last threatening stare, muttering to himself. 

Shatterstar closed the door behind him, feeling the man's eyes on him from the bed. "That was not about you," he assured him as if he needed to explain himself. "I asked him to bring me several items. Books, in particular."

"That was a long list for a pile of books," the man remarked blandly. "Unless he is bringing a library." 

"I had to be sure he would get what I asked for. I can only hope my descriptions were enough."

"You could not have just told him the titles?" the man asked, voice rough and low, softened with curiosity.

"It would have been pointless. He cannot read," Shatterstar replied, keeping his voice words equally soft. He met the man's gaze, eyes glassy with fever, and felt oddly defensive of a man he had frequently dismissed as a buffoon. Bloodblade had his faults, but this was not one of them. "It is not for lack of trying. He is surprisingly intelligent, but the letters... they swim for him and confuse themselves."

"My cousin is the same," the man replied, after a moment. 

At that moment, Shatterstar felt entirely exposed. He turned away quickly, busying himself with items on the table. When Shatterstar finally looked at the man again, he found he had fallen back asleep. Shatterstar was still watching him when Bloodblade returned with the items he had asked for. 

Neither of them spoke as Bloodblade handed over the items. 

Bloodblade spared one last fleeting glance at the man, and then Shatterstar was alone.

* * *

The man took a turn for the worse a few hours later, tossing and turning on the mattress, sometimes speaking to ghosts Shatterstar couldn't see, other times staring at the ceiling of the room, lucid and suffering, resigned to his captivity. He alternated between sweating and shivering, pushing listlessly at his clothing. Shatterstar stripped him out of his soiled garments, wrapping his naked body in a fresh blanket. He replaced the poultice, for whatever good it was doing, and tried to get him to drink water.

He called for his mother, twice. Other times, he seemed to know she was dead, grieving her. Shatterstar watched helplessly. This was so beyond anything he had thought he'd known that he tried to think of excuses. There had to be someone on this ship better suited to carrying this man through his torment. Had to be. Someone who really was kind, who could compel this man to continue living despite it all.

Worst of all, sometimes the man was still, breath rattling in his chest. These times were the worst. 

It was during one of these moments when Major Domo came to check on his process.

"How is our guest?" Major Domo asked, hands clasped behind his back. 

Shatterstar pressed his lips together. "Sick," he said eventually. "The wound has festered. It was left too... I should have been called sooner," he amended, trying to form the words in a way that didn't sound accusatory. Major Domo raised an eyebrow, and Shatterstar quickly added, "he is stubborn."

"He certainly is," Major Domo replied, tilting his head. "I'm told he's spoken with you."

"He has," Shatterstar confirmed. Had Bloodblade overhead them? Someone else? He'd allowed himself to be careless, to speak to the man without considering the ears pressed against the door, waiting for his missteps. Shatterstar was only at the top because he had fought his way there. The climb hadn't been easy but the fall would be if he let his guard down even for a moment. He resolved to be more cautious.

"Has he said anything interesting?"

"He has a cousin. His mother is dead," Shatterstar said. They were primarily a crew made up of English speaking men. The odds were that they had simply been heard speaking, not that their conversations had been understood, so he left out the part where the man had called him Fishstick and a dog, and the part where the man was convinced he was already dead, even if he had said that with great certainty. 

"Well, I suppose that's something. At least he isn't mute. That had been the concern."

Shatterstar didn't say anything. He glanced at the man, who had gone silent as they spoke. 

"The Captain reminds you how important this is," Major Domo said, staring down at the man with a disdainful expression. "I will return in the morning to ensure our guest remains well looked after."

"He is very sick," Shatterstar said, knowing he was pushing up against defiance, but Major Domo – and the Captain by extension – had to understand that Shatterstar could not force this man live through sheer will alone. He had already fulfilled his end of the bargain. Someone else had tampered with that.

"The Captain has complete faith in your abilities," Major Domo replied with a bland tone. 

Shatterstar exhaled sharply. Why bother, he thought angrily, why try? No one was listening to him.

"And do put that chain back on his leg," Major Domo added as he moved towards the door. "It was there for a reason. Do not be fooled by this man, Shatterstar. He is not as harmless as he appears." 

"I will, sir," he said, bowing his head slightly, hoping to placate him. 

But Major Domo was not fooled. "Now, Shatterstar. While I am watching."

Shatterstar picked up the manacle and clasped it around the man's foot, the click of the lock audible. Major Domo nodded, satisfied, and finally left. Shatterstar stood by the door, ear pressed to the wood, until he was satisfied he was gone. He returned to the man, looking down at him, mouth drawn tight. 

The man, finally giving up the pretense of sleep, stared back at him, wet hair plastered to his face. He was lucid and probably had been for the entire conversation. Had _he_ understood any of it? Shatterstar wouldn't ask. It was better not to know. It was always better not to know. He had almost forgotten that.

"Water?" he asked, meeting the man's pitying gaze, shoulders squared. He supposed it didn't matter if the man had understood or not – a dressing down by one's superior was obvious in any language. To his relief, the man merely nodded. Shatterstar sat on the edge of the cot and held the bottle to his lips. 

"Am I going to die from this?" the man croaked. 

"Most likely," Shatterstar admitted. 

"Good," the man said, swallowing one last mouthful of water before closing his eyes. "Good," he said.

Shatterstar ignored him. It wasn't good for him. Good was the very opposite of what this was.

* * *

Shatterstar nursed him through the night as the fever reached its pinnacle. He kept applying the wet cloths over his burning skin, kept changing the poultice in the hopes it would finally keep the infection at bay. Bloodblade came again to see if anything was needed, but Shatterstar couldn't muster the strength to speak with him beyond a simple _no_. All his attention was focussed on keeping this man alive. This man, who wanted to die, because the alternative was... Shatterstar couldn't be sure. 

Except he knew. The Captain had come by his reputation honestly. Perhaps this _was_ more merciful.

But that part of Shatterstar he kept barely reigned in – the piece of him that wanted to live more than anything else in this world – roared in his ears. Mercy was not an option, not when it likely meant his own downfall. The moment he stopped thinking about himself was the moment he lost everything. 

At one point, the man's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for breath, over and over, in great gulps. Shatterstar, despite his anger and his resentment towards him, leaned over and put his hand on his face, trying to soothe him. The gaze that looked back at him was fearful, panicked. His breathing heightened.

"You will not be alone," Shatterstar heard himself saying. "I will stay with you. You have my word."

The man said nothing, beyond words and understanding, struggling to breathe. Shatterstar stayed there, bowed over him, cradling his face, until his back ached. Eventually, the man relaxed, glassy eyes fixed on Shatterstar's face, lips cracked and bleeding. Shatterstar brushed his thumb over his stubbled cheek.

"Everything will be fine," Shatterstar whispered, even knowing it was a lie, for the both of them.

* * *

The man burned for another full day and a half, hallucinating phantoms, unable to take more than the faintest trickle of water. Shatterstar didn't rest for a single second, fighting with him, changing his blankets and struggling to cool his heated skin. Neither of them ate. There was simply no time for it. 

Shatterstar's world narrowed to just him and this man, who wouldn't just _die_ like he wanted to. 

Occasionally, Bloodblade arrived with fresh food, taking away the meals Shatterstar hadn't touched. 

Major Domo came to check on him every twelve hours. Only once, the Captain came with him. They asked Shatterstar to leave the room, which he did without protest. He was exhausted. He stood in the hallway, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Waiting. Finally, they came out of the room. 

The Captain appeared to be quite angry, red-faced and puffing. For a moment, Shatterstar thought he might strike him like he had when Shatterstar was a child and still learning how to serve aboard this ship. But the Captain merely looked at him then shook his head, disappointed. "I expected better." 

Shatterstar dropped his gaze. Behind his back, he dug one fingernail into his palm, grounding himself. 

The Captain stomped off, and Major Domo followed close behind him, offering platitudes. 

Shatterstar watched them go, feeling blood trickle over his hand, then went back into the room. The man was still lost to his fever, listless and confused, but his skin had red marks all over it like someone had tried to rouse him, to force him to do something his body and his brain were no longer capable of. 

Shatterstar took a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it go. 

There was nothing more he could do for the man, except sit with him. After futilely flipping through the two of his books, looking for solutions he hadn't already tried, he started on the book Cecilia had given him. It was written entirely in Latin and would be of no help whatsoever, but it passed the time. 

Eventually, he began to read it out loud because the man seemed to quiet when he spoke. 

And then, in the early hours of morning on the third day, when the sun was just beginning its ascent, the man's fever broke. His skin cooled, and his body lost its restlessness. Shatterstar wrapped him in a dry blanket then carefully peeled back the bandage and the poultice beneath it. The skin was no longer mottled, the thin lines of red faded to nothing. Shatterstar rinsed the wound with water then covered it. 

He slept until dusk, on the floor of the room, facing the ceiling. He woke up feeling more like himself. 

He ate, breaking the stale bread and stuffing half of it into his mouth. He sagged with relief.

Suddenly aware of his own body and his surroundings in a way he hadn't been in days, he took the time to sit and care for himself. Sitting at the table, stripped down to his breeches, he removed the leather from his hair and let it down over his shoulders. He took his eye-patch off and laid it down on the surface. He shaved his face smooth with a straight razor and some of the water, then wet a cloth and scrubbed his body clean with a firm, brisk hand. It felt good, to get the grime off, to feel human again.

"Fuck," the man croaked behind him. On instinct, Shatterstar turned, and the man's eyes widened. 

Shatterstar immediately clasped the left side of his face with his hand and reached for his eye-patch. The Captain would not be pleased if he had found out Shatterstar had been so careless with it. The man's gaze stayed on him, watching as he put it back on, and the expression on his face changed. 

"How long was I indisposed?" he asked, calm as if he hadn't just witnessed Shatterstar's deformity. 

"Two days," Shatterstar replied. 

The man considered that, looking troubled. "Was I capable of speaking?"

"You were insensible," Shatterstar assured him, taking note of how he relaxed at the words, sinking deeper into the mattress. He looked small and weak, but his pallor had improved slightly. "You talked of your mother," Shatterstar added, just so he knew. "You called for her. I think you even saw her."

The man pressed his dry lips together. "Which one?" he asked, after a pause, brows furrowed.

"The dead one?" he offered hesitantly. The man made another face – he was so expressive, speaking without needing words, Shatterstar had never met anyone like him – but he seemed satisfied with the answer. "The Captain did come to speak with you, once, but he left in anger. He was... _enraged_."

"Was he?" The man chuckled softly, his mouth twisting up into a bitter smile. "Good."

Talking seemed to sap his strength, and he closed his eyes again, breathing deeply. Shatterstar had spent enough time listening to every sound his body made to know he hadn't fallen asleep but was just resting instead. He should have tried to get the man to eat, but the idea of fighting with him was exhausting.

"Do you want me to bathe you?" he asked instead.

"Are you trying to imply that you, I and everything in this room right now smells like a corpse?"

"I am implying nothing," Shatterstar assured him, feeling a twitch akin to a smile pulling at his cheek. "But what you have said is not untrue. If you are shy, please know that I have seen an incredible number of pricks. My crewmates will put their cocks into anything regardless if it's a good idea or not."

The man frowned. "You've seen all of me already." He phrased it more as a question than a statement. 

"I have," Shatterstar confirmed. "And I would never judge a sick man by what his body betrays."

Appeased, the man nodded, and Shatterstar set to work. The water was at room temperature, which was better than nothing. He picked up the soap he normally reserved for surgery and dipped it in the bowl. He scrubbed the man's arms first, particularly beneath them, then soaped his neck, and his feet, and his knees. He could tell the man was enduring this, that he resented his current weakness, but it had taken both of them together to get him into a sitting position. The man had insisted, even though he'd been forced to cling to Shatterstar's arm, brow pressed against his bare shoulder, in order to maintain it.

Shatterstar could not remember ever being touched so intimately. He found it deeply unsettling.

* * *

Over the next few days, the man began to recover, but he rarely ate, even when willing. As Shatterstar pushed another bowl of bland soup at him – he didn't want to eat it either, but Moremeat was the cook, and that was all there was to it – he finally confessed his secret. "I suffer from seasickness. _Fuck off_."

"Many men do," Shatterstar said, sniffing distastefully at the bowl.

"I imagine _you_ don't," he snapped, in a foul mood. _Probably from hunger_ , Shatterstar thought wisely.

"No, being on the water feels natural to me. Like I was born to it. I barely remember anything different. I was young when I joined _The Wildways_." Shatterstar turned to his medicines, picking through them until he found the vials he needed. He ground up the wormwood and mint then mixed in oil and vinegar until it made a paste. "If you allow me to rub this in your nostrils, you will feel better." 

"Do what you must," the man said dismissively, arms crossed in front of him. He'd spent most of the day sitting up, which was a marked improvement. Shatterstar was pleased by the development. With his finger, he dabbed at the man's nose until he batted him away, annoyed. "Fuck, this smells like shit."

Shatterstar shrugged. "It works."

The man began to eat and recover his strength. He asked Shatterstar to read to him, citing boredom, and did not so much as blink when Shatterstar told him his current book was in Latin. Shatterstar had never spoken so much in his entire life, and while he was not precisely _good_ at it yet, he thought he had potential. 

Though he would keep that to himself. Talking was dangerous, not something to be tempted into. Mercifully, no one other than Bloodblade had ever tried, who had decided years ago that they were friends. They were of similar age and temperament, so it had made sense to endure him, but even that had its limits. Shatterstar didn't like how he sometimes skulked about in the periphery, always listening.

But he did talk with this man because the man kept talking to him. Not all the time – sometimes the man stared at nothing, expression grim, eyes intentionally blank – but sometimes they were... friendly. Not friends, but like he and Bloodblade were. Tolerant of each other because this was all they had. 

He even began to look forward to their discussions as the days continued on. 

Occasionally, Shatterstar's thoughts drifted further, into hidden places, remembering how the man's face had felt under his hand. He tried not to noticed the bare lines of the man's torso as he sat in bed wearing nothing but the breeches Shatterstar had given him. It was too hot for shirts, the air stale and heavy.

The man grew even more handsome as Shatterstar came to know him beyond just his attractive face, which Shatterstar had managed to save. The scar would always be there, but it could be hidden. Not like his own. What nature had done to the left side of his face was nothing that could go unnoticed.

"Have you always been blind in that eye?" the man asked one night, after staring at him for a while.

Shatterstar closed the book he had been reading, staring down at the cover. "Yes," he said eventually.

"Is it a cataract?"

"Yes," Shatterstar said again, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny but enduring it. He felt he owed this man that much, though he did not precisely understand why. "The Captain says I came to him this way. He accepted me despite my obvious deformity. I keep it covered out of respect to his wishes."

"There is surgery for that," the man said. "The cataract, I mean. Not the other thing."

"I know, but it has never been offered, and I have never asked." It was an old wound, one Shatterstar didn't need the man picking at when he had already moved on. "It doesn't matter. Even if I had surgery, I would not regain my full sight. Why risk it? I don't need two eyes. I've done well enough with one."

"Does it not put you at a disadvantage when fighting?" the man pressed, stubborn. 

"I have never known anything different," Shatterstar snapped, harsh enough that the man flinched from him. Shatterstar could see a matching spark of anger flash in his eyes. "It is none of your business."

"That's true," the man agreed easily enough, though his tone was cold. 

Shatterstar went back to reading, at first to himself, but the man made noises until Shatterstar began to read out loud again. This could not possibly be interesting for him, but he insisted, so Shatterstar kept doing it until the man asked, without any prompting, "Where were you born? You don't sound English."

"I'm not," Shatterstar replied, despite himself. "I was born here, in the West Indies, or so I am told."

"To English parents?"

"I don't have parents," Shatterstar said through gritted teeth. At the man's look, Shatterstar exhaled. "If I had them, they were never in my life. The Captain says I came to him fully formed, from the foam, which I know is simply a story he likes to tell," he added before the man could open his troublesome mouth again. "There was a woman. Rita. She... kept me alive until I was old enough to come here."

"Was she your mother?"

Shatterstar paused then shook his head. "No. Just like the Captain is not my father."

"I didn't think he was," the man said, still watching him intently. "Did _you_ ever think he was?"

"Briefly," Shatterstar admitted, "when I was very young." He still remembered how the Captain had laughed, delighted, hands clapping together as if Shatterstar had done something amazing. He hadn't even had a name then. He hadn't earned it yet. He'd just been _Boy_. "Why are you even asking me this?" 

"You speak like you don't remember anything. Like your life is a story someone told you."

Shatterstar frowned. "I don't," he admitted, ignoring the way his heart thudded in his chest. He resisted the urge to press his hand over it and muffle the sound. Something dark and foreboding twisting under his skin ominously, he added, the warning in his voice clear, "do not ask me about these things again."

The man looked at him with an expression too close to pity, which made Shatterstar even more uncomfortable. He shouldn't have said anything. Why did this man keep compelling him to speak? This had gone beyond kindness, and if he hadn't known how to be kind, he certainly didn't know how to be _this_.

Whatever this was. 

Shatterstar still didn't even know his name, and somehow that hadn't mattered at all. 

They went back to reading and listening, though the tentative peace between them felt like it had fractured. An hour later, Major Domo arrived at the door and dismissed Shatterstar from his task, just like that. And just like that, the man reverted to how he had been, blank, retreating into his own head. 

Shatterstar left without saying anything or looking back, afraid that Major Domo would see it all on his face: that the man who had walked out of that room was not the same man who had walked into it.

* * *

Shatterstar slept for twelve hours in his hammock, deep and restful, then woke up and returned to his old life. At first, the sun bothered him, too bright for his eye, but he quickly grew used to it. He threw himself into his work. Some of the sails needed mending, and he spent a full day on the masts, alone. 

Everything irritated him. The noise of the crew, the taste of the food, the sheer boredom of the sea. He began to long for the sight of another ship, just for something to do, but the horizon remained clear. He spent an embarrassing amount of time with his new swords, admiring them, cleaning them, as the men around him snored or, more than once, grunted softly as they worked their hands upon their cocks. 

Maybe it was a better way to pass the time, Shatterstar thought bitterly, holding one of his swords. Think with your cock, instead of your brain. It looked like it was an easier way to live if nothing else. An image crossed his mind – the man, in that room, _passing the time_. He flushed hot with shame.

He wanted to forget him. He needed to forget him.

Why hadn't he laughed when he called him Fishstick? A normal man would have. 

Shatterstar struggled to find his equilibrium again. He felt out of step with the rest of the crew. Worse, he kept speaking to them in Spanish, the words jumbled in his head. English felt like the foreign language, not his mother tongue, and Spanish felt... _comfortable_ , like he had been born to speak it. 

Even when English began to feel more natural after a few days, he continued to dream in Spanish. 

They docked in Nassau again. Shatterstar, restless and bored even before he had been tasked with anything, spent most of the day staring out the window, willing someone to make an attempt on the Captain's life. At least then he could ease some of this listlessness by teaching a fool a harsh lesson. 

From across the room, Bloodblade played with one of his daggers, moving it from hand to hand, effortless like the flow of water. It was all for show – this group of men were particularly stubborn and fearless, which demanded shows of strength and obvious reminders of who it was they dealt with.

At the Captain's command, Bloodblade stabbed the one protesting the most in the hand with that same dagger, ending the meeting on a satisfying note, at least for their side. Major Domo collected the various payments, writing them all down in his ledger, and then finally dismissed the crew from duty.

"Come with me," Bloodblade said, low, catching Shatterstar as he came out of the door. At Shatterstar's hesitation – they were all creatures of habit, and he knew exactly where Bloodblade spent his off time – Bloodblade sighed deeply. "I won't try to get you to fuck anyone. Just come with me. _Eat_ with me."

"I would rather not," Shatterstar said, shouldering past him. 

Bloodblade pushed off from the wall and began to follow him. "You'll have plenty of time for your sword-master after. I might even come with you. I've been considering upgrading my weapons." 

"Why?"

"Because once I've thrown all my daggers away, I usually end up unarmed?"

Shatterstar made a noise of utter exasperation, ignoring Bloodblade's pleased little smile. Shatterstar lowered his voice. "I mean... why do you wish for me to eat with you? What do you want from me?" 

"I want your head back in the game," Bloodblade hissed, a familiar spark of anger in his eyes. They stared at each other for several minutes before Shatterstar sighed and made a sweeping motion with his hand. Casually, as if they hadn't just almost murdered each other over nothing, Bloodblade led the way.

They walked a confusing route, but Shatterstar still knew where they were. Or he thought he did, at any rate. The surroundings were oddly unfamiliar, especially in the dark. They went, of course, to a brothel. 

"Don't give me that look," Bloodblade said, grabbing a bottle of rum from the mistress of the house, who shook her head fondly as he flipped her a gold piece. "Trust me. The cook here is worth your time. Far better than anything Moremeat has to offer. More than that, they keep a private room for me here."

It was the first secret Bloodblade had ever given him because Shatterstar hadn't known that. Hadn't wanted to know that. Didn't want to know anything about him. At the look on his face, Bloodblade merely sighed and led them up a staircase to a room with open windows and food already waiting. 

"This is likely a bad idea," Bloodblade admitted, sitting down. He tugged off his boots. "But I honestly doubt anyone would think we're fucking each other. Especially the Captain. You've done a magnificent job of convincing everyone you're a eunuch." Bloodblade stretched to his full, impressive height, reclined in the chair. " And you should try the fish. It has so much _flavour_. You'll never want to leave."

Against his better judgment, Shatterstar sat down. He left his boots on. 

"Though if you do want to fuck someone," Bloodblade added, shovelling half his plate into his mouth with his hands like he hadn't been properly fed in weeks, "they have a fine selection here of women." He took a drink of rum, straight from the bottle. "Or men. Or both, if that's your preference."

Shatterstar meant to say something caustic to shut him up, but instead, he heard himself giving a secret back to Bloodblade. "I cannot have anything that someone could lord over me." Bloodblade stopped chewing, eyeing him curiously; Shatterstar looked away. He didn't know why he had said that, especially to him. "It is not that I am... devoid of those urges. I am simply not allowed any weakness."

Bloodblade regarded him for a moment longer then shrugged. "Makes sense," he said simply.

"And I'm not a eunuch," Shatterstar added. 

Bloodblade grinned. "Oh, don't worry. I've seen you naked enough to know the truth." 

Shatterstar rolled his eyes, trying to hide his unease. He shouldn't have told him any of that, but Bloodblade had always been good at finding his one sore point and poking at it until it bled. He'd been good at it when they were cabin boys together, and he was even better at it now. It was a talent. 

Mercifully, so was Bloodblade's intuition. He changed topics. "Do you think your sword-master will help me?"

"I can ask. He loves lost causes," Shatterstar said, and Bloodblade laughed, spitting food over the table. 

After the meal, Shatterstar left Bloodblade to his own devices, brushing past the woman standing outside the door as he left. He went to Nathan, who invited him into his workshop, and they stayed there until well past midnight, arguing over how to fix the swords until, finally, they were both perfect. It was only then, once they were both exhausted, that he brought up the topic of Bloodblade's weapons.

"Bring him to me," Nathan said gruffly, after a brief moment of consideration, and Shatterstar nodded. 

By the time he returned to the ship, he felt almost like himself again.

* * *

They were at sea for three days before Sharpeye noticed another ship on the horizon. Killfire confirmed it, passing the looking glass to Shatterstar, who nodded and went to find Major Domo. By the time he returned, the men had taken their positions on the deck, waiting eagerly for Major Domo's commands. 

"It's Hodge, sir," Sharpeye called down, excitement in his voice. "He just raised the black."

"Very well. If he insists." Major Domo's lips drew thin, hands clasped behind his back, as he surveyed the men in front of him. "Gentlemen," he began pompously, "we have something Hodge greatly desires. Something valuable, for which we will be handsomely paid, but none of us will fill our purses if we do not win this fight. The Captain will be on deck shortly to enjoy the show. _Impress_ him."

The crew cheered, loud and boisterous, then started preparing in a flurry, yelling at each other, laughing. Shatterstar watched them – noticed how the new members, the ones from the French ship who had joined the crew, fell into step as if they'd been there all along – then moved to join the fray. 

"Shatterstar," Major Domo said, sparing him a bland look, "collect your swords and come with me."

They went below deck to the officer's quarters, where the man's room was. Some unknown emotion rose up in his chest, bright and thrilling, and he fought to temper it before Major Domo noticed it was there. Moreover, he tried to look like he was angry, resentful of this burden like he normally would be. 

"I don't need to tell you what will happen if harm comes to him," Major Domo said. 

"No, sir."

Major Domo looked upon him distastefully, then unlocked the door and handed him the key. Shatterstar took it, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. The man looked up when he entered, sitting in bed with the chain around his bare ankle. Armed with a viable excuse, Shatterstar removed it. 

"In the case we must evacuate," Shatterstar said, dropping the manacle on the floor. 

"What's happening?" he asked, voice rough and unused. He looked thin, like he hadn't been eating. 

"Another ship is pursuing us. The Captain has chosen to fight instead of flee." Shatterstar rubbed his forearm on the filthy window, trying to clean it enough to see through it, but he just made it worse. "The other ship is captained by Cameron Hodge, who plays whichever side most suits him at the time."

"I know who he is," the man said flatly then added, with pure feeling, "I hope the bastard burns."

"He will," Shatterstar assured him. "Even without my swords, he is no match for _The Wildways_."

The man nodded, tipping his head forward, exposing the back of his neck. Shatterstar stood there watching him, silent, until the first boom of the cannons. They both jumped. Reaching over, he pulled the man away from the wall, holding him up when it became clear he didn't have the strength to stand on his own. He pressed him into the corner, offering his own back as support, and readied his swords.

And then they waited. 

_The Wildways_ rocked as it received a round of cannon-fire. From above deck, Shatterstar heard the crew yelling, preparing to board. Their own cannons boomed again. Shatterstar could smell the gunpowder now, thick and metallic on his tongue. A part of him yearned to be up there with the others, fighting for his survival, metal against metal, searching for flesh. The other part of him, the bigger part of him... he glanced behind him, at the man and his dark brown eyes and his handsome face.

 _I want to protect him_ , Shatterstar thought with sudden, startling clarity. Even if Major Domo had not made him, he would have done so anyway. He _wanted_ to protect him. Shatterstar looked away, his heart racing. He had never wanted anything before except this one thing. 

He tightened his hands on his swords. Hodge would not get this man tonight. Not ever.

* * *

The fight lasted under an hour. Three men made it to the room; he killed all of them, quick and swift, no match for his double-bladed swords. Once it was quiet, Major Domo came to the room and stepped over the bodies, failing to avoid the blood. He looked at Shatterstar then the man standing behind him.

"Bring him on deck," Major Domo said with a sniff. "It is the Captain's wish that he sees this."

Shatterstar nodded. Once Major Domo was gone, he took the man by the arm and helped him over the bodies, guiding him barefoot through the ocean of blood that had seeped out of the men. He slipped once, but Shatterstar caught him, fingers digging into his upper arm, hard enough to leave a bruise.

As they stepped onto the deck, Shatterstar quickly surveyed the damage. Sharpeye was dead, missing most of his face. Firststrike sat beside his body, looking stunned. Had they been friends? Shatterstar had never considered the possibility. He supposed, if Bloodblade had died, he would have felt... something perhaps, or just as likely, nothing at all. It was his own fault if he formed an attachment. 

But the thought – nothing that hadn't crossed his mind before, because they always died, one by one, it was inevitable, and his time would come soon enough, whether he wanted it to or not – sat uneasily in his head. The truth was, when Bloodblade died, he _would_ feel sad. And when this man... Shatterstar looked down at him, at the tangled brown hair on his raised head and the proud line of his squared shoulders. He could not force himself to push the scene in his mind to its logical conclusion. 

"Ah, good, the finale can now commence. Come, get the best view in the house," the Captain said, catching sight of them, waving them over. At his feet, Hodge kneeled, hands tied behind his back. He was a slim man, with wire-rimmed glasses, completely nondescript, yet men had still followed him, still given their lives for him. They had all burned now, the mangled parts of the ship above the water still smoking, but they had served him to the end. "Captain Hodge, I believe you know our guest."

Hodge laughed, coughing up blood and spitting it onto the deck. "You were better off with me," he said, speaking to the man, who regarded him blankly. Hodge spoke in English, Shatterstar noticed, but the man gave no indication that he understood him. "I suppose we all get what we deserve in the end."

The Captain chuckled delightedly. "You always did have a way with words. I suppose we do. In this case, the better man prevailed. What a fool you are. You sent your poor men to their untimely deaths, knowing they were out-gunned and out-manned. This is how you repaid their loyalty? A slaughter?"

"Oh, will you just get on with it?" Hodge groaned, swaying where he kneeled, shirt soaked at the belly with blood. Someone had gotten to him first. If the Captain didn't stop talking soon, he'd drop at his feet. "I have an appointment with the devil, and I'd rather not be late. I'll save you a spot, you bastard."

The Captain smiled, big and bright, with a sharp edge to it. "As you wish, old friend. I regret that our games have finally come to an end. At least I won. Shatterstar," the Captain said, eyes still locked on Hodge's face, "take his head. Use one of those intriguing new swords of yours. Make it memorable."

Shatterstar hesitated, but only because he thought the man might fall if he let go. He swayed, but remained on his feet. The crew tittered as Shatterstar pulled one of his blades free from the leather harness he wore on his back. He lifted it over his head, both hands on the hilt. Hodge looked up at him, through his stringy hair, mouth twisted in a smirk, and Shatterstar brought it down upon his neck. 

Hodge's head landed on the deck with a loud thump, rolling thrice before stopping. The spray of blood had been... unexpected. It fanned out on the deck, in a perfect arc, and the blades had gone through cleanly on both sides, leaving a peculiar medallion of flesh and bone lying on the wooden ship floor. 

"Magnificent," the Captain breathed, hands pressed together against his mouth. He prodded Hodge's head with his boot, and one of the cabin boys swooped in to pick it up. "Wasn't that brilliant, Domo?"

"It was, my lord," Major Domo assured him. "You always know how to put on a good show."

The Captain puffed at the compliment, pleased. He dismissed them all from the spectacle. Shatterstar, expecting to be asked to take the man back to his room, was waved off by Major Domo. "You are no longer needed here," Major Domo informed him. "Tend to the crew. I'm sure there's a limb to hack off."

"Yes, sir," Shatterstar said, bowing his head. There always was.

Shatterstar took a left hand and a right leg off two separate men. The one-handed man would likely live, while the one-legged one likely wouldn't, but he'd been surprised before. He stitched the men who needed it. The newly named Wildcry, who had been one of the gunners, helped him. He had a steady hand, and his stitches were small and precise. Shatterstar didn't ask how or why he'd finally earned his name. 

Firststrike was still sitting by Sharpeye's body, oblivious to the noise and action around him.

Moonhammer – the carpenter they'd gotten from the French ship weeks ago, named for his penchant for working by moonlight instead of sunlight – shouted instructions to the crew in broken English. _The Wildways_ had taken a significant amount of damage from Hodge's ship, primarily to the central masts.

Bloodblade was the last man Shatterstar tended to. He sucked on a bottle of rum as Shatterstar sewed the deep cut over his eye. Once that was done, he laid back so Shatterstar could pop his right back arm back into its socket, a foot jammed under his armpit for leverage. Bloodblade swore, took another swig of the rum then jumped up, rolling his shoulder. Bloodblade tilted his head in Firststrike's direction. 

They got Firststrike back on his feet then helped him lift Sharpeye over the rail, giving him to the sea.

* * *

Shatterstar spent the rest of the afternoon working with the rest of the crew on the ship. By his count, they'd lost eleven men, ten of them nameless. The cabin boys washed the deck while everyone else worked on the broken masts. By supper time, the deck was dry, all evidence of the bloody battle gone.

Shatterstar went to the head to relieve himself, staying longer than he needed to in order to gather his bearings. Once he felt more settled, he realized how hungry he was and set out to claim his dinner. 

On the way to the galley, one of the cabin boys caught his attention. "The Captain requests your presence," he said, voice high and lilting, cheeks pinked by the sun. This had been him once. He barely remembered it anymore; it was better left forgotten. "Major Domo says you're to look presentable."

Shatterstar arched an eyebrow, watching the boy scamper off. Ignoring the inquisitive looks of the other crew members – and one muttering of _captain's pet_ , too low for him to know who it had come from – he headed to his hammock and did the best job he could. He'd given his second shirt and breeches away.

In the end, he'd smelled a little better than he had and brushed his hair loose with his fingers, but it would have to do. 

He entered the captain's cabin to see the Captain, Major Domo and the man, all seated at the Captain's table. There was one empty place setting, and Shatterstar realized it was for him. At Major Domo's pointed look, he sat down, facing the man, who looked beyond him, gone again into his own head.

"I thought a celebratory meal was in order," the Captain announced, waving one of the cabin boys forward with the wine. "Shatterstar, I'm not sure if you've been introduced to our guest. May I present Julio Esteban Richter, heir to the Richter empire. This silly boy refuses to use pistols," the Captain said, speaking to the man now, whose had glanced up briefly at his name, "but I'm sure he's heard of you."

Shatterstar had. The family was well known for their guns, pistols that were absolutely unrivalled when it came to their explosive lethality, meant to make a second shot unnecessary. There was an eternal debate among the crew if that was by design or by gunpowder. They made truly impressive weapons.

They were also very insular, almost myth-like in their existence. 

Despite the popularity of their pistols and gunpowder, he'd never met anyone who claimed to be a Richter by blood. They were wealthy beyond imagination and very, very good at keeping secrets. The Captain, whose love of stories was matched only by his love of gold, would have been unable to resist. 

"Translate that," Major Domo added sharply when Shatterstar remained silent. 

Shatterstar, not knowing what else to do, mind reeling with what he had just learned, did as asked. The man – _Richter_ , he reminded himself, he had a name now, but he still felt shaken knowing what it was, realizing he had wanted his name freely given – gave no indication he heard any of it. 

"Shatterstar is our jack of all trades," the Captain told Richter, not at all put off by his silence. The cabin boys worked around them, filling plates and goblets, quiet as mice. "He is the longest serving member of this crew, other than me and Domo. I practically raised him from boyhood myself."

"And what a fine job you did of it, my lord," Major Domo told him, earning a beatific smile. 

Shatterstar translated the entire exchange, word for word. Richter's brows narrowed imperceptibly. 

"My crew is especially loyal," the Captain informed Richter, looking directly at him. "Not like you. Shatterstar, did you know the man seated before you is a traitor?" Major Domo sniffed derisively, to which the Captain nodded emphatically. Shatterstar translated it all. "He betrayed his family; Hodge betrayed him; _I_ betrayed Hodge. What a wonderful circle we've made! Wouldn't you say so, Richter?"

Shatterstar dutifully translated the words, trying to get the inflection correct. Richter remained silent.

The Captain tsked, not speaking to anyone in particular. "I heard that he didn't have the stomach for it. That he's a coward. That he ran away like a child instead of doing his duty. Or so the story goes anyway." The Captain dug his fork into his fish, slicing a sizable piece off then placing the morsel into his mouth. He spat it out just as quickly. "This is downright inedible. Domo, what have I told you?" 

"I will rectify it, my lord," Major Domo assured him. "Many apologies."

"You're forgiven," the Captain said magnanimously. "Now, eat up, gentlemen. Use the wine to wash it down. We have so much to discuss. Having finally confirmed your identity – I will have to thank Hodge later, or at least what's left of him, for having done that much for me – I have a proposition." 

Shatterstar repeated it all, though he could tell by the look on Richter's face that he hadn't needed to.

He'd understood. He'd understood it all.

* * *

By the time dinner ended, Shatterstar was exhausted. He had dreaded the idea of being forced to feed Richter, but Richter had eaten on his own after he'd caught Shatterstar's hand moving uncertainly over the silverware. Shatterstar had educated himself on a wide variety of topics, but table etiquette had not been one of them. Shatterstar didn't even know why Richter had done that for him, but their eyes had met across the table, just briefly, for a moment, and that look had been enough to spur him into action.

Shatterstar had also consumed too much wine. So had Richter. The Captain had been very insistent. 

The Captain talked all night, alternating between trying to goad the information he wanted out of Richter – who still refused to speak with him, still continued to play dumb – and telling elaborate stories that quickly escalated to the absurd. He spoke so much and so often that his voice began to thin.

After hours of this, they were both dismissed. Shatterstar was tasked with returning Richter to his room then coming in the morning to ensure he ate and drank. Going forward that would be his daily duty. He accepted the assignment with a bowed head. If Richter had an opinion on it, he did not deign to share. 

"Remember the shackle, Shatterstar," Major Domo said as they left the captain's cabin.

"Yes, sir," he said without hesitation.

A few curious glances turned their way as they walked, but it was late, and most of the crew had already drunk themselves asleep. Bloodblade was awake, tossing daggers into a block of wood. Watching through his hair, Bloodblade kept his mouth shut, but Shatterstar felt his eyes following them.

Once they were back in his room, Shatterstar finally said what he'd been thinking. "You speak English."

"Of course I speak fucking _English_ ," Richter snapped, in Spanish. He stomped his foot impatiently until Shatterstar knelt, reattaching the manacle around his ankle. Once bound again, Richter sat down on the bed, pressing his face into his hands. "Do you know the bastard never even asked me if I could? He assumed because I was Mexican that I couldn't. And now I get to hear his fucking shit _twice_." 

"You should be careful what you say to me," Shatterstar blurted out, backing away from him.

"I haven't told you anything," Richter said, turning his head to glare. "What do you fucking know?"

"Nothing. I know nothing. I didn't even know your name."

Richter's body was tense, his rage barely concealed, and Shatterstar found it almost mesmerizing. To be that expressive, that free with his language, Shatterstar couldn't even imagine. He went through life, calm, controlled, because the alternative was almost unthinkable. "That insane windbag is clearly trying to talk me to death since torture didn't have the desired results. Does he ever fucking _stop_?"

"No," Shatterstar heard himself saying, compelled again to speak. "No, he never does."

Eyes closed, Richter took three deep breathes, letting each one go. When he opened them again, he was calm. He looked at Shatterstar askance, laughed a little to himself, then turned his gaze to the window and the darkness beyond it. "How long will this go on?" Richter asked, barely audible. "Do you know?"

"Until he tires of you," Shatterstar answered honestly. "Until you no longer entertain him."

"I can't give him what he wants. I won't." Richter laughed again, pushing his hair back from his face with one hand. The wound, Shatterstar noticed idly, was healing nicely. And in profile, he was somehow even more handsome. He was truly beautiful. "He calls me a coward. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I did get what I deserve. But I cannot and will not betray my family, not to him. I can't make myself..."

"What?" he pushed as Richter trailed off, ignoring the sick feeling in his own belly.

"Submit," Richter said simply, voice taking a softer tone, and Shatterstar turned away from him, face hot. "I knew I was dead the moment he took me. He would have been better off keeping his mouth shut, making me wonder, but he can't help himself. He _had_ to tell me. He _had_ to brag about it."

Shatterstar continued staring at the wall. "But the Captain's proposition," he tried. "If you just..."

"Tell him everything I know? And then he'll, what, let me walk away? Do you honestly believe that?"

Shatterstar pinched his lips together. That was what the Captain had said. Technically. 

"I knew I was dead the moment he took me," Richter repeated, turning to look at him again. "Don't fool yourself. There is no other end to this. The moment I realized whose ship I was on, I knew. Perhaps if he wanted the information he believes I possess so badly, he should have taken into account the stories they tell about _him_. I hope you hold no illusions about the captain you serve and the value of his word."

Shatterstar frowned, torn between defending the Captain and... whatever the opposite of that was. 

"He doesn't know me. He claims he does. He may even believe it, but he knows _nothing_." Richter smiled, twisted and bitter. "But I know him. I can tell a story of my own. Do you want to hear it?"

Shatterstar didn't, not really, but he also kept his mouth shut. He struggled to calm his breathing.

"There once was a boy," Richter began, the cadence of his voice all wrong for storytelling, but Shatterstar assumed that wasn't a concern. "Victor Mojo, of Manchester, England, born to the third son of a minor earl and his mistress, an actress. A bastard, in all senses of the word. Joined a crew at fifteen, working for a Privateer. There he met John Domo, and together they led a mutiny to overtake the ship. I skipped over a few of the fucking details, but trust me when I say I know exactly how he came to be."

Shatterstar still said nothing. He hadn't known any of that, and it embarrassed him. 

"Know thy enemy." Richter huffed softly, that crooked smile touching his lips again, edging close to a snarl. "My father always told me that. He's dead, in case you wondered. It's a common occurrence in my family, to die well before your time. We Richters have a lot of enemies, and I know them all."

Shatterstar kept his eye locked on Richter's expressive face, watching as he cycled through his emotions. On the surface, he looked amused, like this was one large joke, but beneath it, in the haunted look in his gaze and the tightness of his mouth, Shatterstar wondered if perhaps he was actually scared. 

"Domo has never served the British Army," Richter added. "If he's a Major, it's only in his head."

That, at least, wasn't surprising. But Shatterstar still didn't know how to respond. He was keenly aware that he'd been down here too long and that the Captain would soon know that. The special attention Shatterstar received from him had always put a target on Shatterstar's back. This would only escalate it.

"You should go," Richter said as if he knew Shatterstar's thoughts. "I drank too much. I know better."

"I will return in the morning," Shatterstar agreed, turning to leave, hand on the jamb of the doorway, then added, for no reason except to be kind on a day that had been cruel, "good night, Richter."

"Julio," he said, meeting Shatterstar's eyes when he glanced back at him, startled. "You call me Julio. I don't give a shit what your lunatic Captain calls me or what your crew calls me, but _you_ call me Julio."

Shatterstar frowned but didn't look away, even though he wanted to. "You shouldn't trust me."

"I don't," Richter promised him with another distorted smile, eyes staring at him harshly. For a moment, Shatterstar resented him again – his presence, his disruption to Shatterstar's controlled, predictable life – but then his expression lightened. "But you'll have to forgive me if I pretend otherwise. It... _helps_."

At his words, Shatterstar thought he might be sick. He turned again, quickly, and shut the door behind him, locking it. He had no watch duty, so he went back to his hammock and climbed into it. Normally, he found comfort in the sway of the ship, letting it lull him to sleep, but that night, he merely felt ill.

* * *

By morning, Richter had reverted to his usual withdrawn self. He looked up when Shatterstar entered the room, bringing a plate of salted fish. He accepted the salve Shatterstar offered to help with the seasickness, but said nothing as he picked his way through the food. He even drank without prompting. 

Perhaps it _had_ been the wine, Shatterstar thought, but then he called him _Richter_ without thinking.

"Julio," he said dully, staring out the window, far away again. 

"Julio," Shatterstar repeated and locked him in the room. Shatterstar had been given his own key. When Major Domo had passed it to him, he'd wanted to throw it overboard, its weight too heavy in his hand. But it was his now, unwanted or not. He had tied it to a length of leather and draped it around his neck.

Shatterstar spent most of his time on deck, finding ways to keep busy. The feeling of the sun on his face and the breeze in his hair brought him a peculiar peace he no longer found below deck. The air was cool and clean and tasted of salt. The sound of waves crashing upon the hull was like music in his ears. He listened to it as he worked. There were sails to repair and masts to strengthen and surfaces to scrub. 

With Sharpeye dead, he spent more time in the crow's nest, alone, looking out over the sea.

These times were the hardest. His thoughts drifted to Julio – he forced his brain to call him that, to allow him that small dignity – and what he was doing or thinking or not doing or not thinking. Was he bored? Hungry? Probably both, Shatterstar decided quickly. He wasn't an especially tall man, but he was sturdy – powerful thighs, defined midsection, strong arms. He had been healthy, before all of this, and had probably required a decent amount of nutrients and stimulation for both body and mind. 

And now he spent his days on the edge of starvation, chained in a room to which Shatterstar held a key.

How far would he get if Shatterstar let him go? 

How quickly would Shatterstar die if he even tried such a thing?

The answers came to him easily: not far and not quickly. The Captain did not take betrayal well.

Julio had spoke of stories, but Shatterstar had heard a few of his own. The most famous of them was the Story of Longshot, whose name all crew members were forbidden to say out loud. Shatterstar had seen three men flogged on Major Domo's order for mentioning him within earshot of the captain's cabin.

But Shatterstar had listened to the whispers anyway. The Captain had helmed this ship – and others like it, though _The Wildways_ was all Shatterstar had ever known – for so long that there were stories that suggested the Captain was unkillable. That even if the Captain were to die, there would always be another waiting, willing and able to take his place, identical in all the ways that mattered. 

Shatterstar dismissed that tale as nonsense, but the story he was not supposed to know felt much truer. 

The very first man to earn a name had been called Longshot. He was described by all as golden, loved by the Captain and his crew, fiercely loyal, impressively lethal. And one day, he'd turned against the Captain, and the Captain had destroyed him. How, the stories always varied, but he never died quickly.

The Captain was not a man who believed in mercy. That was the only thing Shatterstar knew for sure.

* * *

On his third straight day in the sky, alone with his troubled thoughts, he received an unwelcome visitor. 

"Can I interest you in stabbing me with a dagger?" Bloodblade asked, climbing into the crow's nest and squeezing in beside him. There was something dangerous in his expression, something that made Shatterstar instantly wary. He wore too easy a smile. "Or, at the very least, attempting to. You _will_ fail."

"I'm on watch," Shatterstar replied, turning away from him. 

"Wildcry said he'd take over. He's desperate to please Major Domo. He hasn't yet realized that's impossible, even after you've earned your name. Come on. Stop hiding up here and fight with me."

Shatterstar looked out over the water. He resisted the urge to touch his face and ensure his expression was as unreadable as he wanted it to be. Where Bloodblade hid behind smiles, Shatterstar wore his mask in a different way. "I'm not in the mood to stab you," he said, annoyed, "though I easily would."

"Words mean nothing without action behind them," Bloodblade said wisely.

"I am also not hiding," Shatterstar added, ignoring him and his infuriating grin.

Shatterstar still had no intention of indulging Bloodblade and his whims, but then Bloodblade tried to stick a dagger in him, in the space under his arm, closest to his heart. The tip broke his skin, the blood beading over the surface, and then everything Shatterstar had been trying to push down for days rose up, hot and furious. Bloodblade realized his mistake immediately, but it was too late to take it all back. 

Grabbing two of Bloodblade's dagger, he lunged. Bloodblade, limber, immediately went over the side of the crow's nest and scrambled down the shrouds. He hit the deck first with Shatterstar close behind him. Neither of them had boots on, and the sound of bare feet on wood was louder than he expected. The crew backed away. Half of them devolved into cheers; the other half – the wiser half – kept silent.

Bloodblade had the skill advantage, but Shatterstar had every other one. Each strike of dagger upon dagger echoed down his arms, the pain reminding he was still alive. Bloodblade drew first, second and third blood, but Shatterstar ended up taking some of his ear with the fourth. Bloodblade swore loudly. 

"You fucking bastard," he said, blood dripping down his face. "I dare you to make a matching one."

"It will be my pleasure," Shatterstar assured him, striking out at him again.

They fought long and hard, covered in blood and sweat not entirely their own. At one point, the Captain came on deck. Julio, mercifully, was not with him. His voice carried high over the noise of the crowd, crying, "bravo, oh, bravo! This is why I am so demanding of you all. Domo, are they not _wonderful_?" 

"They are as you made them, my lord."

The game went on for several more minutes until Bloodblade finally got the best of him, blade pressed to Shatterstar's throat, grinning in his face. "Got you," he said, spitting on the ground at Shatterstar's feet. His teeth were streaked red with blood. "Now fix my fucking ear, and we'll call it even."

Shatterstar pushed him away. "This was entirely your doing."

Once the Captain dismissed them – still beaming, still taking credit for the battle – Shatterstar got his tools and sat on the deck with Bloodblade. He sewed him up while Bloodblade drank, looking morose. Instead of the lecture he wanted to give – if Bloodblade died from this, from an infection that was entirely preventable if he had just _listened_ – Shatterstar let the silence sit between them, comfortable.

As he was finishing, one of the cabin boys came up to them. "The Captain wishes to see you," he said, speaking directly to Shatterstar, but his eyes were drawn to Bloodblade's salvaged ear. "It looks ugly."

"Your face looks ugly," Bloodblade replied, grinning. "Fuck off before I toss you overboard, kid."

The boy stuck his chin up obstinately. "The Captain would punish you."

"I've been dealing with the Captain since before you were a babe on your mama's tit. I'll be fine."

The cabin boy scowled, but he left then, staring back at Bloodblade over his shoulder. 

"You shouldn't tease them," Shatterstar said quietly, knotting the last stitch. The boy had been right about one thing: it _was_ ugly. But it was the best he could do, and Bloodblade had enough hair to hide the worst of it. Shatterstar doubted his bed partners would care anyway. "You didn't like to be teased."

"Didn't harm me none," Bloodblade replied with a shrug. "And I outlasted them all, didn't I?"

"Not me," Shatterstar said, putting away his needle and catgut. "Keep that clean. Understood?"

Bloodblade rolled his eyes but made vague noises of agreement. Shatterstar left him there, on the deck, and went to see the Captain, who smiled brightly when he entered the room and gestured to a chair. 

"Sit," he said, "and keep me entertained as I work my way through this dreadful lunch. A little bird has told me that Mr. Richter has been quite forthcoming with you. Kindness really does work wonders, does it not? So, tell me, Shatterstar, what has our guest had to say? Word for word, and don't lie," the Captain warned. "I don't tolerate liars aboard my ship. Your honesty has always been so refreshing." 

So Shatterstar spoke because he had no other choice. He told him everything, word for word, spoken precisely, unwavering, even as he rued his own perfect memory. When he came to the part where Julio had told him to call him by his given name, the Captain said, "good, good," and looked almost gleeful.

"Is that all?" the Captain asked, once he was done, taking a sip of wine. 

"Yes, sir."

The Captain smiled again. "Such a dutiful man you've grown up to be. And that performance on the deck! What a blessing, to have you and Bloodblade aboard this ship. You never fail to entertain me." The Captain took another drink. His rings glittered in the light. "Equally matched, would you say?" 

"I still hold the advantage, sir." 

"Perhaps someday you will be called upon to prove those words. Wouldn't that be exciting, Domo?"

"Indubitably, my lord," Major Domo intoned. Shatterstar hadn't even noticed him entering the cabin. 

The Captain dismissed him with a bored wave of his hand. It was only when he was ensconced back in the crow's nest, having chased Wildcry out of it, that he realized he had not told the Captain that Julio knew English. He had started reciting the story too late for that detail to be included and had not thought to share it later. Shatterstar had lied to the Captain. By omission, yes, but a lie all the same. 

And the Captain, despite his warning, hadn't known.

Shatterstar was sure he hadn't known. He would have staked his life on it.

* * *

Shatterstar brought Julio a selection of books – all in Spanish, on a variety of topics, including one of fiction – and left them with him. He hadn't even turned away from the window that morning when Shatterstar first entered. The skin around his ankle was bruised and raw. He did not comment on it. 

Shatterstar wanted to tell him that the Captain knew everything – _almost_ everything – but he couldn't seem to force the words out. Any other words he thought he could muster up felt pointless. Why force him to speak, when Shatterstar would just betray him? Perhaps this was better, then, for both of them. 

But it didn't feel better.

Bloodblade's ear didn't fester, which was the only good thing Shatterstar could say about the recent days. Otherwise, he just felt listless again, directionless. He spent more time with Firststrike, who was quiet and withdrawn and didn't force Shatterstar to talk about anything. In the shade, they worked on their weapons – Shatterstar sharpened his blades as Firststrike split his time between pistol and sword.

It occurred to him for the first time that he and Sharpeye might have been lovers. 

He asked Bloodblade over the howl of the wind, the two of them up on the masts, taking in the sails. 

"They were fucking. I caught them once," he confirmed, his words being carried off by the wind. His foot slipped, and Shatterstar reached out instinctively to grab him, fisting his hand in the fabric of his shirt. Bloodblade grunted at him in thanks. "Whether any of us is capable of love is another question." 

Shatterstar frowned. "I didn't know," he admitted.

"He'll follow him soon enough," Bloodblade remarked, tossing Shatterstar the rope. "His light's gone."

Shatterstar tied a knot quickly then moved onto the next one, clinging to the mast, fighting the storm. It had blown in out of nowhere, fierce and strong, and he hoped it would pass soon. If nothing else, he found it hard to sleep when being tossed about, and he could only imagine how sick Julio would feel. 

"I like you better like this," Bloodblade commented, barely audible over the wind.

Shatterstar yanked at a particularly stubborn length of sail until it finally moved. "Like what?"

"Interested in your surroundings," Bloodblade replied, taking the rope that Shatterstar handed over. "Conflicted by whatever secret thoughts you have rattling around in that beautiful head of yours."

"I'm not conflicted," Shatterstar protested. 

"You would be a fool if you weren't, and I've never thought you foolish." Bloodblade climbed over the mast, legs locked at the ankles, thighs steadying him. Shatterstar thought they might blow away at any moment, from how the ship was tilting. "Boring, yes. A waste of an attractive man, without a doubt. But never foolish. We're all given a choice, such as it is. He's made his, and yet the Captain keeps him chained up, below deck, hidden away." Bloodblade looked up. "Unless you're comfortable with this?"

"No," Shatterstar said, understanding now what Bloodblade thought he knew. "No, not at all."

The wind picked up with a roar, and the ship bent sharply starboard for a brief, terrifying moment. 

"I'd love to keep discussing this – I'd trade a bollock to hear you complain, just once, about anything the Captain does, provided you were the one to remove it – but if we spend much longer up here, we'll both plunge to our early deaths. We'll have time enough for dying later," Bloodblade said with a grunt.

Shatterstar reached over and grabbed the part he was struggling with. Together, they worked to get the sail up and rigged away. Once it was secure, they scrambled down the shrouds and quickly found their footing on the deck. The others had the ship under control – Killfire and one of the nameless were at the helm, keeping the ship steady – so Shatterstar followed Bloodblade down to the crew's quarters.

Bloodblade looked like he still wanted to talk, but as far as Shatterstar was concerned, they'd both said enough. Without the wind to hide their voices, he wasn't willing to utter another word. As long as it remained one man against the other – and Shatterstar was confident he had the Captain's trust far more than Bloodblade did, despite their near equal rank aboard _The Wildways_ – he would say nothing more.

Untying the scarf from around his head, Shatterstar shaped it into a pillow then removed his belt and sash, hanging them over a line of rope to dry. Beside him, Bloodblade did the same, stripping to his breeches before lying down. If either of them had ever wanted to kill the other, the time would have been then, with their backs turned. But Shatterstar merely climbed into his hammock and tried to sleep. 

Outside, the storm raged, angry and unrelenting.

* * *

Shatterstar was sleeping soundly when someone shouted into the hold, "all hands on deck!"

The storm had turned for the worse. Shatterstar had spent over a decade developing his sea legs, but even he could barely handle the list of the ship as it heaved with every wave. Eager to join the rest of the crew, Shatterstar headed for the deck, but Major Domo caught him before he reached the others. 

"Ensure that our guest doesn't hurt himself in all the excitement," Major Domo said. 

Shatterstar instinctively opened his mouth to insist he be allowed to do whatever he could to help the ship, but he could tell from Major Domo's expression that it had not been a request. And deeper still was that secret part of him that eagerly looked forward to spending more time with Julio and would take any excuse. He was careful to look petulant, resentful. He could not risk him seeing anything else.

If either Major Domo or the Captain ever suspected... it wasn't worth thinking about. They wouldn't. 

As he descended into the hull, the ship tilted precipitously port-side. He slipped, landing hard on the floor below. A shock of pain travelled up his ankle, but he ignored it. Using the other hammocks to steady himself, he grabbed a vial of his sea-sickness salve then began to make his way to Julio's room.

As Shatterstar expected, he was ill. The sweet, acidic scent of vomit had enveloped the room. He looked up when Shatterstar entered the room. There was a flash of lightning, enough to briefly illuminate the room, and Shatterstar saw how slick his skin was. Misery was etched into every line of his face. To ease his suffering just a little, Shatterstar removed the shackles from his leg – he'd brought something for his irritated skin as well – then swiped a finger through the ointment, gathering a dollop.

"If you plan on sticking that up my nose again, I won't take it easily," Julio warned roughly.

"You never do," Shatterstar assured him. Julio rolled his eyes but allowed Shatterstar to spread the salve over his nostrils. The ship heaved with a heavy moan, and Shatterstar stumbled again, one knee coming down hard on the bed. Julio's hand pressed into his side, steadying him. He hissed in pain.

"Apologies," Julio said quickly, snatching his hand back as if burned, but Shatterstar shook his head.

"It is nothing you did," Shatterstar assured him. Another flash of lightning gave him enough to briefly examine the flesh on Julio's ankle. Julio had already fought off one festering wound against all odds. Shatterstar doubted he could do it again, especially in his weakened state. "A play fight gone too far." 

"Did you win?"

"No," Shatterstar admitted, quickly blending a selection of herbs and oils and spreading it over a piece of clean linen. He tore another long strip then returned to the bed. The ship rolled again, sudden and forceful, and Shatterstar put a palm on the wall to steady himself. He had come precariously close to sprawling over Julio. "I was disadvantaged. I prefer swords over daggers. May I treat your ankle?"

"By all means," Julio said, "but I would rather you sit down to do it." Shatterstar began to kneel, but Julio stopped him with an added, "no, not there. On the bed. Where we're as equal as we can be, all things considered." In the dark, Shatterstar heard the sounds of him shuffling over the mattress. 

Against his better judgment, Shatterstar moved into the space Julio had made for him. Lightning flashed again, and Shatterstar took the opportunity to locate Julio's leg with his hand instead of being forced to fumble for it. His eye was getting used to it, but it was still darker than he would have liked. Vision was already limited, he was keenly aware that Julio was on his blind side, his vulnerable side. 

"Thank you for the books," Julio said. 

"I will bring you more of them," Shatterstar replied. "Spanish and Latin. The Captain knows neither."

"I'm surprised you do."

"I have a talent for languages," Shatterstar told him.

Julio snorted softly but didn't say anything else. Shatterstar resisted the urge to glance at him. 

As Shatterstar began to clean his skin, Julio's foot twitched as if his first instinct was to pull away. It wasn't a bad instinct to have, Shatterstar thought. He tightened his grip as the ship heaved again. Julio swore under his breath. He had Shatterstar's sympathy; even his ironclad stomach was starting to turn.

Shatterstar worked for a while in silence, the roar of the storm deafening any other sound. From Julio's stillness, he imagined he was barely breathing, tense with pain. With Julio's heel resting in his fingers, Shatterstar took the poultice and wrapped it around his ankle. He curved his hand over it protectively.

This time, it was Julio who hissed sharply. Startled, Shatterstar almost dropped Julio's foot in his lap.

"Did that hurt?" he asked.

"No, it's... it doesn't hurt," Julio replied, his voice strangely rough. "You can continue."

Shatterstar let his fingers relax, increasing the pressure of his tough. Julio stiffened again but didn't pull away. Lightning flashed again, and Shatterstar allowed himself a glance at his face. He looked pained, mouth tight, dark eyes cast downwards. _Even now, he's still so handsome_ , Shatterstar thought.

Julio shifted on the bed, restless. Shatterstar shook himself out of his own head and wrapped Julio's ankle with the rest of the linen. Gently, cautious of the fact something was hurting him, Shatterstar moved his fingers over Julio's lower leg. The muscles were tight; it couldn't be easy, being shackled. 

"Is your leg sore?" Shatterstar asked softly. "From the weight of the chain?"

Julio didn't answer for a long time. "It aches occasionally," he admitted finally, voice tight and low. 

"I can help with that," Shatterstar said carefully, heart racing. He was edging too close to something dangerous, but he wanted to. He didn't know how to touch anyone tenderly. He had never tried, and no one had ever asked. But he thought, for once, maybe his hand could help instead of hurt. "May I?"

"Why do you even ask?" Julio replied. "I'm a captive here. You don't need to ask. Nobody else would."

"I'm not concerned with anybody else," Shatterstar said. He tried again. "May I?"

The lightning flashed again, and their eyes met though neither of them had moved. They'd been staring at each other in the dark, without even knowing. Julio looked troubled, anguished, and Shatterstar had no idea what his own face looked like, except Julio glanced away and murmured, soft, "yes, you may." 

_The Wildways_ continued to list about wildly in the water, back and forth, the storm still raging. Shatterstar focussed all his attention on the muscles in Julio's leg, pressing his fingertips into them, smoothing his palm over Julio's thickly haired leg. From time to time, Julio flinched and shivered, but he never asked Shatterstar to stop, so Shatterstar didn't. He didn't want to. He liked how it felt.

* * *

The storm continued for hours, though the lightning ceased. Eventually, his hand stilled, but Julio's foot remained cradled on his lap. Julio had long since stopped twitching every time Shatterstar moved his hand on him, but he hadn't fallen asleep. Shatterstar suspected they were still looking at each other.

"You're not what I imagined," Julio said eventually, after hours of silence. 

"You knew of me? My name surprised you when I told you what it was." _He called me Fishstick_ , Shatterstar thought, surprised that Julio even remembered the conversation. Tensions had run high. 

"I had heard the name, but the stories painted a different picture. To an extent at least. You look exactly how I expected a pirate to look, based on the books I've read," Julio admitted, a wry tone to his voice.

Shatterstar made a face in the dark. "In what way?"

"The billowing shirt, the short breeches, the incredible number of scarves. That fucking eye-patch."

"All practical decisions," Shatterstar insisted, enjoying the timbre of Julio's voice, how amused it sounded. He'd cut down men for less than what Julio was saying now, but they'd meant it cruelly. "The sun can be harsh on skin, and a man cannot work if his body or mind has been addled by it. Likewise, the heat causes sweat, and sweat reduces efficiency. So the scarves and sashes all serve a purpose."

"You don't wear jewellery."

"Impractical," Shatterstar insisted. "I saw a man lose the flesh on a finger after his ring was caught."

Julio huffed a half-laugh through his nose. "I suppose that makes sense. No earrings then either?" 

"I would be annoyed if I lost part of my ear due to my own idiocy," he said, thinking of Bloodblade.

"Fair point," Julio said then paused again. "I also thought you'd be older... and uglier."

Shatterstar frowned deeply. "You've seen my disfigurement yourself. You're one of four who has." 

"Who are the others?"

"The Captain and Major Domo. And Rita," Shatterstar replied. Not even Bloodblade had seen what hid below the eye-patch. Shatterstar had worn it his entire life, and he'd always been careful to keep it hidden. Rita had mostly let him run wild, feeding him three times a day but otherwise leaving him to his own devices, but she had been serious about that. "I'd be punished if they knew you'd seen it." 

Julio made a noise, deep in his throat, but didn't explain what it meant. Instead, he said, "regardless, the stories are unkind to you. You're definitely not supposed to have all your teeth," Julio added, and Shatterstar snorted. "They do say you're lethal. That you've never lost a fight. A real one, anyway."

"That is true," Shatterstar admitted. If he had ever lost, he would be dead. "Anything else?"

"That you enjoy it, being one of Mojo's..." Julio trailed off.

"One of Mojo's dogs," Shatterstar supplied, fingers flexing against Julio's foot. Julio shifted but didn't pull his leg away. Shatterstar didn't know how he would have reacted if Julio had tried. "I know what they call us. What they call me." He took a breath. "I like sword fighting. I like winning. I like gold."

Julio considered that. "You like being a pirate," he said, with no hint of accusation in his tone, even though Shatterstar had expected it. Shatterstar made a noise of agreement in his throat. "Are you not afraid of hanging for your crimes, once England catches up with Mojo? Or do you hate England, too?"

"I'm not English," Shatterstar replied. "I'm nothing. I hate nothing."

"So you fight for nothing?"

"I fight for my life and those of my crewmates," Shatterstar said, sharp, unable to keep the anger from his voice. He didn't want to talk about this – he never wanted to talk about himself, yet Julio seemed to instinctively know exactly how to pull the words from him – but he felt defensive, hearing him say this.

"I overstepped my bounds. I apologize."

"You did," Shatterstar told him. "Don't do it again." He almost said _please_ then thought better of it. 

Julio didn't respond the warning, but Shatterstar hadn't expected him to. It was a good reminder that they were not friends, despite how it sometimes felt, despite what Julio pretended to keep himself sane. Shatterstar couldn't blame him for any of his actions. This horrid situation did not lend itself to sanity.

By then, the storm had mostly ended, and Shatterstar could hear the sounds of the men heading off to sleep, exhausted by the effort of keeping the ship afloat. Tomorrow would be a busy day of repairs. But nobody came to relieve him of his duty, and so he stayed where he was, his hand still on Julio's ankle. 

After a while, Julio added, almost casually, "none of the stories say your hair is red."

"The Captain has always said I stand out like a flame in the dark with it," Shatterstar replied.

"It is unusual."

Shatterstar made a faint noise of agreement. It was unusual, but everything about him existed to demand attention: his uncommon height, his bright hair, his useless eye, the star-shaped mark around it. Shatterstar couldn't hide from the stories even if he had wanted to. He wasn't allowed that luxury. 

When Julio didn't say anything else, Shatterstar realized he had finally fallen asleep. But what surprised him was when he did, too. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find he had slumped over, slotting himself between Julio and the wall of the room. Beside him, Julio slept soundly, deeply. At any point, Julio could have taken the chain and strangled him with it, taking the key around his neck and running. 

He could have flung himself to the sea before anyone noticed. He couldn't have lived, but he could have ended it. Shatterstar tried not to think about it too much, too hard, and he knew he should have left then, locking the door behind him and returning to the safety of his hammock. But he didn't. Not yet. 

_Not yet_ , he thought, with a desperate sort of feeling curling uncomfortably in his belly. 

_Not yet, not yet_.

* * *

A day later, _The Wildways_ found itself becalmed. Shatterstar slept until mid-morning, in the crew's quarters, after having secured Julio in his room, manacle clasped around his bandaged ankle. He brought Julio food and water and two new books. His eyes brightened when Shatterstar entered the room, but there were people moving around them, close, hauling out supplies, and they did not speak. 

Shatterstar spent the rest of his day on deck, with a needle and thread, repairing the sails alongside Wildcry, Nightwalker and several of the others. Despite the damage to the ship and the fact they were dead in the water, the crew seemed to be in high spirits. They had survived a terrible storm – though Shatterstar had done very little and felt that lack acutely – and that was typically worth celebrating.

Major Domo supervised the repairs, walking the deck, critiquing. The Captain, not unexpectedly, was nowhere to be seen. Repair work was tedious and boring. The Captain had an aversion to both. 

That night, after a bland supper, he slept deeply, his hammock barely moving. He dreamed vividly about Julio and how he might look when he smiled and how he knew he looked with his shirt off but sun-kissed and healthy and alive. He woke in a daze, confused about where he was and how he had gotten there. Slowly, the room began to look familiar, but he remained deeply unsettled. He never dreamed, or if he did, he never remembered, but he recalled the details of this one like a painting. 

He went to Julio's room, but it was empty. His stomach twisted uncomfortably. His heart lurched.

 _Maybe the dream was an omen_ , he thought. Maybe the Captain had finally found the limit of his patience. Shatterstar forced his breath to slow, his face to remain neutral. He had no control over this situation. Nothing happened on _The Wildways_ without the Captain's instruction. His word was law. 

Shatterstar didn't eat breakfast. Just the idea of it made him feel ill. 

On deck, he was relieved to find a group of men training. He joined them, using one of the swords reserved for the lowest of the fighters, the ones who followed instead of led. The blade was dull and chipped, and it had somehow warped so that it curved to the right. It put him at a significant disadvantage, but it made any play fight more fair. One of the French crewmen partnered with him. 

The man couldn't fight, so Shatterstar accepted the distraction for what it was and began to teach him. He was open to instruction and criticism, quickly picking up the stances Shatterstar showed him. They ran through several drills, each one ending with Shatterstar's crooked sword pointed at his belly, but the intervals between the first thrust and the final strike began to lengthen. It was a satisfying experience. 

Mid-afternoon, Shatterstar made the man take a break – and he was barely a man, still holding onto the ungainliness of youth, the dark of his hair not yet wholly reflected on his face – before they both dropped from heat exhaustion. While they were sitting in the shade, the Captain's door finally opened.

Julio stood at his side, arms and legs in manacles, that familiar blank look on his face. 

Shatterstar felt something brilliant leap in his chest and struggled to temper it down. 

The rest of the day went easier after that. His pupil continued to improve, agile and quick-witted in a way most of the others weren't. He'd do well aboard _The Wildways_ if he gave himself fully to the ship. It could be a good life. Shatterstar had money in his purse, food to eat, a place to sleep. The transition could be difficult, but all transitions were. He hoped for the best for this man. He had potential. 

Julio remained at the Captain's side, ignoring the curious gazes of the crew. Julio was still a novelty, someone new and interesting, but that would change soon enough. Shatterstar didn't understand what good could come of reminding the others that this single man stood between them and a payout, between them and all the rum and debauchery they could want, the next time they were on land. 

Or perhaps that was the point. 

It wasn't Shatterstar's place to judge the Captain's decision, but he didn't like it. Not at all.

* * *

Seeing Julio on deck became the norm, especially as the days stretched longer without wind. They still had plenty of food and water, though the latter was slowly turning undrinkable. Moremeat began to serve the water as grog instead. Shatterstar alone insisted on having it untouched from the barrel. 

Boredom began to settle over the ship, which was never good. The men grew listless and irritable. Fights broke out – serious fights, not the sort of play he and Bloodblade engaged in – and Major Domo ended up punishing a whole group of them, all nameless, thrashing them until they were bloody. That, at least, gave Shatterstar something to do as he mixed salves from his dwindling supply and tried to prevent their wounds from festering. It would, of course, serve them right, but maybe they would learn. 

"What does the Captain speak to you about?" he asked one morning while bringing Julio his meagre breakfast. He'd added his own rations to the meal; Julio looked like he needed the extra nourishment. "I never told him. That you understand English," Shatterstar confessed, dropping his voice to a whisper. 

"It's not a conversation," Julio replied, biting into a biscuit and making a face. He switched his attention to the pea soup, which garnered a similar reaction. "He speaks at me. He brags about everything – his ship, his wealth, his crew. The terror he inspires in others. I think he simply likes having an audience." 

"He does," Shatterstar confirmed. 

Julio's mouth did something that almost resembled a smile. "It's an effective form of torture. I imagine he expects that someday I will beg him to stop talking in exchange for betraying all my family secrets." Julio huffed a bitter laugh under his breath. "I suppose that's preferable to the alternative. Marginally."

Shatterstar glanced away, mouth suddenly dry. "Has he hurt you?"

"Recently, only my pride. But it's no worse than anything my uncles have said in recent times. And if I didn't believe it from them, I won't start believing it now simply because a sadistic blowhard says I'm a pathetic coward." Shatterstar looked back, and Julio smiled again, for real. "I'm stronger than I look."

"I have no doubt of that, but all men have their limits

"I haven't reached mine yet," Julio said frankly. "No one is more surprised about that than I am."

Shatterstar wondered what Julio had been like before the Captain took him. There had been flashes of the real Julio, Shatterstar thought, when he had allowed himself to speak unguarded, but he imagined the true man was impressive. Clearly well-educated, he had a quick wit and an even sharper tongue.

 _And handsome_ , his head reminded him. It wasn't something he normally noticed in other people – he didn't have the time to waste on such meaningless endeavours – but with Julio, he saw how handsome he was, even when diminished. His brain could barely fathom the idea of Julio at full virility. 

That feeling of _want_ came back full force: he wanted to see Julio on land, away from all this, thriving. 

"Shatterstar?" Julio said suddenly, and Shatterstar realized he'd been staring. 

Shatterstar looked away again, startled and oddly embarrassed. Julio had never actually called him by name before. It sounded almost normal on his tongue. "I apologize. My thoughts drifted elsewhere." He went back to the last thing Julio had said. "You have done well with a difficult situation," he told him.

Julio snorted softly. "Let my family know that, will you? If you ever cross paths with another Richter."

"I will," Shatterstar promised, meeting his eyes with his one. "You have my word."

Julio nodded, his expression shifting to something much darker, the line of his mouth thinning. Shatterstar left him like that, leaving before he felt compelled to offer words of comfort that would be nothing but lies. He had never resented the Captain before – the Captain was who he was, and Shatterstar had played his part in creating him – but he did now. This was cruel and against the rules. 

Shatterstar really didn't like it.

* * *

As the days passed, the morale of the crew and their Captain continued to diminish. 

One evening, after a day of sitting around, doing nothing, the Captain summoned Shatterstar to his cabin and proceeded to yell and stomp and throw items around the room. Translating everything, he sat at the table across from Julio, who kept his eyes locked on a space behind Shatterstar's left ear. 

"Just make him speak," the Captain spat, digging his hand into Julio's hair and yanking back his head. Julio, to his credit, barely moved, expression blank. "They aren't coming for you," he told him, using his other hand to turn Julio's face. "They aren't going to save you. Real men would choose revenge."

Shatterstar repeated it, trying to put the correct emphasis on the words, knowing he failed at doing so. 

Julio still said nothing, even as the Captain continued to manhandle him and screech in his face. Eventually, Major Domo intervened with a glass of red wine and a platter of misshapen fruit tarts that the Captain slapped across the room in a rage. "What have I told you about the fucking food, Domo?"

"Soon, my lord," Major Domo assured him soothingly. "It'll all be fixed once the wind returns."

"Sometimes I wonder if you all hate me," the Captain said, flopping dramatically into his chair.

"The crew adores you," Major Domo told him. "They love you. They would be nothing without you."

The Captain flicked his hand. "Get these ungrateful children out of my face. They _bore_ me."

Major Domo led them to the door, sparing Shatterstar a withering look that spoke of future punishment. Shatterstar felt the anger rise up in him hot as a flame. He let himself imagine, for one moment, how satisfying it would be to snap Domo's neck like a twig. He'd hang for it, but it might be worth the try.

But anger turned men into fools, and Bloodblade had already decided that Shatterstar wasn't one of those, so Shatterstar let his fury go, just like that, caging it deep inside himself, like the animal it was.

Bowing his head in apology – which Domo accepted with a derisive sniff – he led Julio back to his cell. He didn't touch him, but some part of him wanted to. For what reason, he couldn't articulate, but it was there, the profound desire to comfort him, to show him kindness because it was what Shatterstar wanted and not what the Captain had asked of him. But Shatterstar didn't know how to do any of that. 

"He's mad," Julio said when the shackle was back around his ankle, staring out the window. Shatterstar looked at him, at the part of his back that was covered neither by his shirt nor his hair. He didn't answer. He still couldn't bring himself to criticize the Captain. His heart rate increased just thinking about it. "This is the first night he's yelled at me, so if my intention was to force his hand, I suppose it worked."

"Was that your intention?" Shatterstar asked, even though some part of him feared the answer. 

"Yes. Or no. I don't actually want to die," he admitted with a shrug of his shoulder, still looking out into the settling darkness. What he saw out there, Shatterstar didn't know. "But I've made my peace with it. Is that pathetic? He's let this scene play out too long. I'm no longer panicked. I've _accepted_ my fate."

"Your family won't...?" Shatterstar trailed off, noticing how Julio's posture stiffened. 

"No," Julio replied. "No, if they send anyone, it will be to kill me first. They'll assume I'll break. I won't. I haven't. But they'll assume it." Julio huffed a derisive laugh that threatened something else entirely. "There is nothing I could do to change their minds. I am what I am. Still just half a man."

Shatterstar didn't know what he meant, but he knew whoever had told him that was wrong. 

"If he asks... tell him I won't give him what he wants. Ever. Will you do that for me?"

"Yes," Shatterstar promised. Even if it hurried Julio to his fate, he meant it. Even then. 

"Good," Julio replied. The word was followed by a silence that spoke almost as loud, dismissing him. 

Shatterstar left him there, locking the door. He turned to find Bloodblade lingering in the shadows, watching. His expression was unreadable, bright eyes trained on Shatterstar's face, arms crossed in front of his chest. It was a relaxed, non-threatening pose, but Shatterstar didn't allow himself to be fooled. Bloodblade did nothing without a reason. Without uttering a word, Shatterstar pushed past him. 

Bloodblade let him go, but Shatterstar could feel his eyes on him, even in the dark.

* * *

The next day, the wind came back, filling the sails. Shatterstar quickly jumped into action, following the instructions shouted by Killfire, who was at the helm. With the help of Roughwind, who often acted as the navigator in Major Domo's stead, together they worked to get the ship facing the right direction. 

Shatterstar had missed feeling _The Wildways_ sway under his feet. The salt air felt better in his lungs, the sun more welcome on his face, with the wind behind them, pushing the ship through the water. He'd been sleeping poorly, plagued by confusing dreams, so he hoped this would help. The crew always grew unsettled when _The Wildways_ was becalmed – they'd been lucky this time, that it had lasted less than a week and they'd not gone through their rations – so perhaps he was responding to that.

He kept dreaming about Julio. For the more part, the dreams had remained mercifully chaste. But not all of them, and he was ashamed that his brain had chosen to degrade Julio like that. Except it hadn't felt like a degradation, but something better, something purer. It was not that Shatterstar hadn't noticed people like that before – he had eyes and his body had instincts, even if he neglected them – but he'd always ignored those urges. He was a weapon, and weapons did not _desire_ people. They killed them. 

He wasn't like Bloodblade. He couldn't let anyone get close to him. He had to remain vigilant. He had realized from an early age that he could have no weaknesses. It had been easier just to ignore his urges. But he felt like he was losing control, like he had already lost it. No wonder his mind was in turmoil.

Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand – some of the rigging had become knotted, and he found it calmed his thoughts to keep his fingers busy – he almost missed when the Captain came out of the captain's cabin with Major Domo and Julio and went up to the poop deck. Even over the wind, Shatterstar could hear the Captain talking incessantly at Julio, who kept his eyes trained on the horizon.

Had the situation been different, Shatterstar might have found the expression on his face funny. 

"We should celebrate this good fortune! Who wants a show?" the Captain asked suddenly, voice carrying over the crew. The majority of the men made gruff noises of approval, lifting encouraging fists into the sky. Shatterstar kept his hands on his knots, ignoring the swirling dread in his belly. "As always, your enthusiasm is noted and appreciated. Domo! Pick your champion, and I will pick mine."

Major Domo walked up and down the deck, hands clasped behind his back. "Moremeat," he said.

Moremeat looked up, startled. 

"Excellent choice, Domo," the Captain said, sounding delighted. "And for me... Shatterstar."

Shatterstar fought to keep his expression blank. He and Moremeat were a mismatch in both skill and talent. Moremeat was a physical fighter, a beefy man with hands that could split a skull, but also slow and easy to dodge. This had to be a mistake. He hesitated, giving the Captain the chance to laugh it off. 

But the Captain merely looked at him, grinning, and the feeling in Shatterstar's belly grew heavier. 

Shatterstar, unsure of what else he could do, turned to grab a practice sword. 

"Ah, ah, ah," the Captain said, shaking his head. "I think, today, I am in the mood for... bare fists." 

That equalled the field somewhat, though Shatterstar knew he still held the advantage. Quickly, he removed his shirt, balling it up and tossing it to Bloodblade. He had to be careful with it. He only had one now. Julio – whose dark eyes were locked on him, expression impenetrable – still wore the other.

Once Moremeat was ready, Major Domo whistled, and the battle began. For a time, they circled each other, the hum of the crew building with anticipation. Despite his feelings on this fight, he felt his heart rate increase. He kept his eye locked with Moremeat's, trying to read his feelings and failing miserably.

Moremeat struck first, quick and without warning. Shatterstar moved just enough that the fist glanced off his torso instead of impacting it directly. Then, without any more hesitation between them, they fought. Shatterstar kept his mind focussed on the task, ignoring the sounds of fists against flesh, the metallic scent of blood. He ignored his own pain, which blossomed with each strike Moremeat landed, and managed his anger, though he could feel the hot rage simmering like a flame, waiting to ignite.

It helped that Moremeat didn't speak. Bloodblade never held his tongue, never felt he needed to. 

Shatterstar fought, quick and efficient, and soon he gained the upper hand with Moremeat on his knees, looking up at him, face battered and bruised, blood dripping from his mouth. Shatterstar stared down at him, aware of the blood on his hands, hot between his fingers. He turned to the Captain expectantly. 

"Did I tell you the fight was over?" the Captain asked. Shatterstar shook his head. "Then continue."

Shatterstar opened his mouth to protest, but he was aware of all the eyes on him. He glanced at Julio, who stared back, eyes dark and mystifying, but Shatterstar thought he appeared almost sad, like he pitied him. Shatterstar twisted away from that, unable to take the look in his eyes longer than he had to. 

Moremeat stood up and lunged at him. His fist connected with Shatterstar's belly, but it held no strength behind it, no power. The fight was no longer fair – it had never been fair, but at least Moremeat had landed a few solid blows – but Shatterstar didn't know to make it fair. If this fight continued, it wouldn't be a battle between two men fighting for their lives, where the best man won. It would be an execution.

It _was_ an execution.

Shatterstar pulled back, taking another hit to the stomach. He slipped on the bloody deck, landing hard on his arse, and Moremeat followed, falling on top of him. They rolled around on the deck, the sway of the ship bringing nausea to Shatterstar's belly. He took all of the hits given and landed none of his own.

" _Bloodblade_ ," the Captain said sharply, a warning, but Shatterstar did not know why. 

The fight continued as Shatterstar's mind warred with his body. _This isn't fair_ , he thought, over and over. There were rules. There were ways they did things, and this fight was none of those. 

"Give me this, you bastard," Moremeat said finally, rough, in Portuguese. "I'm done," he added as Shatterstar stared at him. Each word spat blood all over his chest and Shatterstar's. He hit Shatterstar again, more show than anything. His breathing was laboured. "It will be a mercy. _Give me this_."

Shatterstar hadn't even known Moremeat could speak any language other than English. Had he been born in Portugal? He didn't know anything about him and had never tried to learn, not once, in the four years since he'd joined _The Wildways_ crew. He hadn't wanted to know, because it had been easier not to. 

The anger finally snapped in him, exploding like cannon shot. He beat Moremeat until he was dead.

* * *

After, standing on the deck with blood dripping from his fingers, the Captain led the crew to a rousing cheer. Major Domo, having lost his wager, conceded to the Captain with a bow of his head. "Very good, my lord," he intoned, stepping around Moremeat's body. "You never fail to entertain, Shatterstar."

Shatterstar didn't answer him. He kept his eye locked on Moremeat's battered face. 

"Please return our guest to his room," Major Domo added, tacking on a sharp, " _now_ ," when Shatterstar hesitated. Shatterstar had blood all over his hands, matted in his hair, painted over his torso. He looked like a monster. He felt like one. He didn't want Julio to see him like this. " _Must_ I repeat myself?"

"No, sir." 

The Captain was still holding court, not acknowledging him when he took Julio by the shackles and led him away from the Captain's spirited retelling of the fight. He met Bloodblade's gaze across the deck, hating how Bloodblade looked at him with some ugly expression that edged towards understanding. He couldn't understand. He never would. Bloodblade wasn't used by the Captain like Shatterstar was. 

Bloodblade had always been the second option. He always would be. 

Shatterstar used to enjoy his place in that hierarchy, but right then, at that moment, he resented it. 

He led Julio to his room in the otherwise unused officers' quarters, but it was Julio who unlocked the door, removing the key from Shatterstar's neck. It was Julio who took them both inside. Julio, who removed the manacles around his own wrists and ankles and re-attached the chain to his own foot.

It was Julio who took Shatterstar's bloody hands in his own and poured his drinking water over them.

" _Don't_ ," Shatterstar said, finally, trying to reclaim his hands, but Julio's grip merely tightened. Saying nothing, he continued to wash them until the blood was gone. He took one of the cloths Shatterstar had left him – hygiene was important, hygiene saved lives – and gently wiped his face clean. When done, Julio touched him there softly, and Shatterstar reared back like he'd been struck.

Julio lifted his hands up, fingers spread, palms outward. "I should have asked," he said. "May I?" 

"I just beat a man to death because he couldn't _cook_!" Shatterstar roared, in Spanish, pushing at him, and Julio wisely backed off, though he didn't look frightened. Torn between anguish and anger, Shatterstar struggled to calm himself. He didn't want Julio to see him as he truly was.

"Has that happened before?"

"Not like that," he admitted. "I've fought others. When they want to take my place, I've fought. When the Captain asks to be entertained, I've fought. But that... it felt wrong. The Captain wanted him dead, and Moremeat wanted to die, but... it felt wrong." Shatterstar made a frustrated sound, annoyed at himself for not being able to express why the scene had bothered him. "I don't know how to explain it." 

"How was it different?" Julio pushed gently. 

"It wasn't fair," he said, though he no longer knew what he meant by that. Everyone had gotten what they wanted. The Captain, Moremeat... they had both gotten exactly what they wanted from the fight, and yet Shatterstar still felt unsettled, still felt... used, like he truly was a weapon instead of a man. "He was ill-suited to the role of cook, but someone had to do it when Rawknife died. He was set up to fail."

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"No," he said harshly. "I didn't like him. I didn't even _know_ him. I don't have friends."

"Not Bloodblade?"

"He's not my friend," Shatterstar snapped, fists curled at his sides, shoulders drawn up tight. Suddenly, he felt cornered, like he could not escape, but he also could not force his body to move towards the door. It would be safer – for both of them – if he left, but the mere thought of leaving caused him pain. 

"He tried to interfere in the fight. I saw it with my own two eyes."

"If he did that, it was for his own benefit, not mine."

Julio said nothing, but his face betrayed his opinion: that Shatterstar was wrong. 

"Someday, the Captain will pit us against each other and one of us will die. He has shaped us both into weapons, and if we were to ever truly mean it, it would end no other way. At least it will be a fair fight," he added bitterly, "if he doesn't stab me in the back first. I don't have friends. I can't have them."

"Not even me?"

"Especially not you!" Shatterstar shouted. 

The look Julio gave him was one of profound sadness, and Shatterstar couldn't bear it. He had never yelled at anyone before, and he was disappointed to find it wasn't at all satisfying, but he was angry, and he didn't know what else to do. "Don't be _kind_ to me," he said. "I have been complicit in this."

He didn't say what _this_ was, but he didn't have to. Julio knew it. Julio had lived it every day for weeks.

"You have been," Julio admitted, after a considered pause, and it stung to hear. "I should hate you. At times, I have. But I also see you for what you are, and I cannot find it in myself to blame you for much of what's been done to you. Tell me... is there anyone on this ship voluntarily? Because they chose it?"

"We all chose it," Shatterstar snarled, frustrated with Julio's persistence. Why could he not understand this? For a man who claimed he knew the Captain, Julio seemed unable to grasp this basic fact. "Even the cabin boys. We are given a choice. We join or we die, one way or the other. That is how it works."

Julio frowned. "When the alternative is death, I'm not sure that can be described as a choice."

"Even when they choose death, the Captain gives them a chance," Shatterstar protested, thinking of all the ships they'd burned, all the ships they'd sunk, and the men left aboard, always too far from shore.

Julio snorted derisively. "I've heard about his _chances_ , the games he plays. Men have survived to tell the tale, true, but the number is far smaller than it should be. Here is what I know of your captain: Mojo is not feared because he is respected but because he is a monster. He is the nightmare that haunts all seafaring men's dreams. Most ships are happy to let the fools who get caught keep him entertained lest he turns his attention to them. Mojo lives in his own world, by his own rules." 

Shatterstar swallowed hard, his mouth devoid of any moisture. 

"I don't say this to be cruel," Julio added, watching him, "but I'm not sure you knew that."

Shatterstar's shoulders sagged, and he wished now that he had let Julio put his hand on his face even if it had hurt him. "I don't know anything," he admitted, unable to keep the resentment from his voice. "I only know what I am told, and I think... I think I am lied to. I no longer know which stories are true." 

Julio expression changed at that confession, the harshness in his face easing slightly. He moved onto the cot, leaving room, still holding his hands out. They were nice hands, longer-fingered, powerful. They had tried to comfort him, and Shatterstar had rejected them. He sat down beside Julio anyway. 

"I have another story, but it will be very hard to hear."

Shatterstar exhaled sharply. "I'm tired of stories." 

Julio huffed. "I know, but I think you need to hear this one. Tonight. Since I believe I have begun to bore your captain." He laughed again, low and rueful, and Shatterstar's chest ached to hear him do it. 

"Very well then," Shatterstar said, disregarding his own pain to grant permission. "Tell me this story."

* * *

Julio did not say anything for a long time. Above them, Shatterstar could hear the crew working, returned to their roles after the performance. Shatterstar didn't know how much longer he could stay there before Major Domo sent someone to retrieve him. Surely his absence had already been noted. 

"Of all the stories told about Mojo, this is the worst of them," Julio said, finally, hands clasped together. "It starts with a woman named Alison Blaire, who had a seafaring father who took her everywhere. She was an only child, and he doted on her. And she was a firebrand, vibrant, with a voice like a songbird."

Shatterstar made a face but declined to comment. He already knew Julio was a poor storyteller. 

"She would eventually marry," Julio continued, in the same hushed tone, dark eyes on Shatterstar's face. "Her husband would take her last name as he did not have one of his own to give. It was said that he called himself Arthur because it was forgettably common. Because he wanted to disappear."

"Is there a point to this?" Shatterstar asked, letting his irritation get the better of him.

Julio ignored him. "This man was also called Longshot." 

"Longshot betrayed the Captain and died for it," Shatterstar replied flatly. "Everyone knows this."

"Perhaps he did," Julio admitted, his tone making clear his disagreement, "but it took five years for Mojo to find him again. In the meantime, he lived a life. He fell in love, got married, and they had a child together. A boy they called Benjamin. He had hair like a flame and was born with a star-shaped mark on his face and a left eye clouded over. Despite his imperfections, he was a beloved child."

Shatterstar found that he was shaking his head, even without meaning to. "No," he forced out, raw.

But Julio continued. 

"The child died after Mojo tracked down his parents and punished them for betraying him. Burned in his bed, with only bones to prove it had been him. His parents wept as Mojo laughed at their tears, pleased that he had so thoroughly destroyed them. Or so the story goes anyway," Julio said softly.

This time, when Julio lifted his hand, Shatterstar let him put it on his face. It was only then that Shatterstar noticed he had somehow started crying, despite having thought he was incapable of it. Inside him, he felt the anger rise, wild and controllable, hot enough to burn his skin off if he let it. 

"Why?" Shatterstar asked, once he thought he could speak again. "Why would the Captain do that?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"You must be mistaken," Shatterstar heard himself insisting, anguish warring with anger again. His emotions raged inside him, nameless, horrible. "If you mean to hurt me... to make me betray him... I have told him everything. I told you not to trust me. I told him everything. I told you that I would."

"You didn't tell him I spoke English," Julio replied, hand still on Shatterstar's cheek, catching his tears. 

"I cannot be that child," he said, turning from him and pushing him away, his face hot with shame. His thoughts raced, erratic and incomprehensible, and his head ached with an unrelenting pain. _I would have remembered_ , he told himself. If Julio was telling the truth, if he had once had parents who loved him and somehow forgotten them... Julio had to be wrong. He had to be lying.

The alternative was simply too terrible too bear.

* * *

In the end, he ran from Julio, from his horrible story, and returned to his life. Julio watched him go, saying nothing, but the look of pity in his eyes was enough. He hadn't wanted to know any of that, but he knew it now. He wanted to believe it was a lie, but what reason could Julio possibly have to do that? It had to be clear to him that Shatterstar was not going to save him, that Mojo controlled him entirely. 

The whole thing left him deeply unsettled. His head continued to throb. 

Above deck, it was mostly empty. The calm water meant minimal nighttime crew. Bloodblade and Killfire were standing together, speaking quietly, but they stopped when he stepped outside. There was no sign of Moremeat's body. Hopefully, he had been given a proper farewell and returned to the sea.

With their eyes still on him, he climbed the shrouds and forced the man on watch out of the nest. 

Shatterstar spent the next several days moving between his hammock and the crow's nest. He brought Julio his food and his water, but he didn't know what to say to him, so he said nothing. Julio, mercifully, did not push the matter. And despite his inner turmoil, Shatterstar _was_ glad to see him. 

Had the story been the truth? And if it was true, did everyone else know? Worse... were they laughing at him, the loyal, obedient pet who didn't know any better? The Captain was prone to bragging, but Shatterstar had never heard him boast about this. So what did that mean, in the grander scheme? 

Shatterstar didn't know. His headache persisted. 

_The Wildways_ anchored in Nassau, and Shatterstar went ashore with the Captain, Major Domo, Bloodblade, Killfire and Wildcry, who had been tasked with protecting the Captain for the first time. Shatterstar remembered how proud he had been, how valued he had felt, the first time he had been chosen. 

But right then, more than anything, he wanted to be away from there.

He took small comfort in the weight of the swords at his back. They kept him grounded. 

The meeting lasted forever. He counted the seconds until it was finally done. 

Once they were relieved of their duties, Shatterstar tried to leave before anyone could speak to him, but Bloodblade followed on his heels. When Shatterstar turned to force the matter, Bloodblade simply grinned. "Ah, but you told me I could meet your sword-smith. You gave me your word," he added.

"No, I didn't," Shatterstar replied, annoyed. 

"You never say anything you don't mean, and I've never needed blood oaths from you. I trust you."

Shatterstar stared at him, suddenly wary of his attention. Bloodblade looked the same as always, relaxed and affable, easily charming in a way that Shatterstar had never managed for himself, but Shatterstar understood now that he was seeing what Bloodblade wanted him to see. Who he was behind that mask, what man he had been before he joined _The Wildways_ , Shatterstar would never know him.

Shatterstar couldn't trust him, even if he wanted to. 

Bloodblade continued to look at him, waiting for his answer. Their lives were unpredictable, and Bloodblade had made a fair point about throwing his daggers. While a disadvantage would help Shatterstar, he was tired of unfair fights. When the day finally came, they would fight as equals. 

"Fine," he said tightly, "if you insist."

"I do," Bloodblade replied with another easy grin. 

"This man," Shatterstar said then stopped, considering his words. "He has already lost everything."

Bloodblade leaned into him, mouth taking on a peculiar twist. "I'm not a spy for the Captain if that's what has you worried," Bloodblade murmured, tone light, eyes laughing at him. Shatterstar turned away with a huff, and Bloodblade pulled back, walking on ahead. "I don't take it personally," he said. 

"What?"

"You," Bloodblade replied and grinned again. 

Shatterstar stared after him for a moment then walked after him. 

Bloodblade didn't, after all, know the way.

* * *

Nathan received them with a gruff welcome, his eyes sweeping over Bloodblade, taking his measure. Shatterstar half expected Bloodblade to say something ridiculous, but it turned out he had manners after all. He stood there abiding the scrutiny until Nathan grunted and turned around. "Follow me," he said. 

"I can see why you like him," Bloodblade said, delighted, stepping into Nathan's home. 

Shatterstar sighed.

Nathan had cooked dinner, a simple spread of meat, potatoes and bread. He invited them to eat, which they did in comfortable silence. Bloodblade, mercifully, did not chatter through the meal, which Shatterstar would not have thought he was capable of, though he did occasionally open his mouth. 

Men could not help their natures, Shatterstar supposed. 

After, they gathered around Nathan's worktable and discussed weaponry. Shatterstar stood with Nathan as Bloodblade demonstrated his prowess with his blades. It was, as always, impressive. Nathan whistled with approval as Bloodblade hit each target at its centre from across the room in dim light. 

"If the daggers were lighter, I could carry more," Bloodblade said, pulling them out of the wood and tucking them away. "And I thought wielding two blades – a reasonable size, of course, nothing too showy, though perhaps with hooks at the end – could aid me in hand to hand combat. But no swords."

"Why does nobody come to me with reasonable requests?" Nathan grumbled, though he already had his pencil out, sketching a design with his one good arm. Bloodblade crowded into his space, watching over his shoulder. Shatterstar half expected Nathan to push him away, but he endured his presence. 

No longer interested, Shatterstar sat by the fire, staring into it. Part of him wanted to return to the ship immediately, but the rest... Nathan had lived in Nassau for a long time. Though he kept to himself, he knew things, and there was nobody else that Shatterstar felt he could ask if he decided to do it. He still hadn't made his mind up. He felt like it would be asking too much of a man who owed him nothing. 

Had it been a mistake to bring Bloodblade here? He didn't know anymore. 

His entire life felt like a lie. 

The flame kept him mesmerized as his thoughts drifted, thinking of what Julio had told him, of Julio himself. He wondered how long he'd be able to remember his face. Months? Or would he have it longer, burned into his brain, for years? He no longer knew if that would be a torment or a comfort.

What would it have been like, to meet him under different circumstances, in a different life?

They might have been friends. They might have been very good friends. 

Slowly, he became aware of Bloodblade shaking Nathan's hand then heading towards the door. "You know where to find me if I'm needed," Bloodblade said, to him, though it sounded more like a question. Shatterstar nodded, staring up at him from his chair, and then Bloodblade disappeared into the night. 

Nathan sat down across from him, in front of the fire. "Your friend is interesting," he remarked.

"He's not my friend," Shatterstar replied. "Someday I will have to kill him before he kills me."

Nathan kept silent, even though Shatterstar knew he had said it simply to provoke a response. It was the truth, anyway. He had lived on _The Wildways_ for over twelve years, longer than anybody else. He had grown from a boy to a man under the watchful eye of Mojo. Had entertained him. Had killed for him. And someday he would die for him. Bloodblade was one of the few who could do it. 

With that in mind, he decided that he might as well ask. He had nothing left to lose.

"Do you know anything of Alison and Arthur Blaire?"

"Only hearsay and rumours," Nathan replied, staring into the fire. "They were before my time. But I can tell you what I've heard." Shatterstar nodded after a moment's hesitation, so Nathan continued. "She was the daughter of a prominent merchant from the colonies. He was... more complicated than that. Most people agree he was likely a reformed pirate, though no one agrees on who he actually was."

"Could he have been Longshot?" Shatterstar asked, guessing that Nathan would know the name. 

"Could have been," Nathan said with a slight nod. "But no one speaks of your captain or anything to do with him if they can avoid it, lest they summon the monster themselves. He has eyes everywhere, watching keenly, knowing he pays for a good story. Lucky for you, I don't give a fuck about him." 

Shatterstar frowned. "You should have turned me away."

"That was my choice to make, and I made it. I don't regret letting you into my home," Nathan replied, leaning forward to throw another log on the fire. "I don't much like a man who would kill a child. That's the one rumour that clings to him, like the scent of a rotting corpse. It's the one story he hides."

"Do you know who the child was?"

"The Blaires had a son," Nathan replied after a pause of consideration. "They disappeared around the same time. It could very well be a coincidence. But if Arthur Blaire and Longshot are the same man..." Nathan trailed off, making huffing sound deep in his chest. "Your captain is infamous for his temper."

"Are they dead?" he asked, voice low, barely able to force the words out. 

"That I don't know," Nathan said, looking at him with a curious glance. "Who told you about them?"

"Someone I trust," Shatterstar replied, feeling that truth to his bones. It was better to know, he told himself, though he only half believed it. The other half felt sick. "Thank you for being so candid with me," he added, ignoring the turn of supper in his belly as he stood to leave. "I have appreciated it."

Nathan nodded, offering his hand, and Shatterstar took it. That was new, and he hoped that meant that Nathan had understood what he hadn't been able to say. That he had appreciated the meals, and the quiet conversation, and the swords that people laughed at, and the refuge from an otherwise violent life.

He had appreciated it all.

With a heavy heart and a racing mind, he walked to the beach and took the first boat back to _The Wildways_. The crew, as usual, was minimal, those left behind resentful that they weren't on land, partaking of drink and women. Or men in some cases, he thought, noticing Firststrike alone on deck.

 _Soon_ , he thought, looking at him. _Soon, I'll know what you feel like_. It came unbidden to his mind, but like before, when he had realized he trusted Julio, he knew this was also true: that he felt great affection for him. That his dreams – fevered, sensual, longing – betrayed what his conscious mind could not.

That many people had tried – men _and_ women – but only Julio had been able to reach the centre of him. 

It was a terrible realization.

* * *

He slept poorly and rose with the sun. With Moremeat returned to the sea – _by your own hands_ , he reminded himself, clenching his fists at his sides – a man named Fishstick had taken over. Shatterstar had almost laughed when the man told him who he was. It suited the man more than it would have him. 

He tasted the food reluctantly, but it was actually good. Relief washed over him like a rain in summer. He brought a bowl down to Julio, who was still alive, still chained to the floor as he looked out the window. Shatterstar finally let himself experience his desire for what it was. He was a beautiful man. 

"What is it?" Julio asked, looking back at him over his shoulder.

"Nothing," Shatterstar replied, replacing his empty bowl with a full one before switching out his chamber pot. This time Julio watched him, expression guarded, and Shatterstar was reminded that he had left the last time in a panic, torn between sorrow and rage, shaken to the core. He felt ashamed.

He thought about apologizing, but instead, he said, "I am who you think I am," and tried to smile even though it hurt him deep inside his chest to do it. Julio nodded, the tightness around his mouth softening, and Shatterstar smiled again, a little truer that time. He left without saying goodbye. It felt too final. 

He fell into the routine of the day, working on deck in the sweltering sun, ignoring Bloodblade as he chattered on beside him. It felt like any other day, but then another ship came into view, moving fast towards _The Wildways_. Shatterstar hung back, waiting for direction from Major Domo, but none came. So he gathered his swords and prepared for the inevitable conflict. He didn't recognize the black flag.

And it felt good to board that ship and fight. It felt good to win, to overpower his opponent and see the knowledge on his face that he had been bested. He didn't enjoy the last part, but he never had, seeing the light go out of someone's eyes. It had always felt like a waste to him. He thought it always would. 

He would remember, he told himself. For as long as he lived, he would remember he had killed them.

They fought until they were victorious. The captain of the other ship was young and ambitious, and he spat in Major Domo's face when he inquired about the gall it took to attack _The Wildways_ unprovoked. 

"Go fuck yourself," the man said, bleeding from the mouth where Major Domo had struck him. 

"What were you after?" Major Domo asked, hitting him again.

"You fucking know," the captain said, grinning, spitting blood at Major Domo's feet. "Your crew is not as tip-lipped as it should be. You better leash your dogs tighter, or we'll all be after you soon enough."

Major Domo raised an eyebrow. "If your crew is any indication, we have nothing to worry about."

"Someone will get you," the captain said. "Marks my words."

Major Domo looked upon him, nose in the air, and sighed. "Sink it all," he said to the crew. 

They obeyed. The Captain came out to watch, more subdued than Shatterstar had ever seen him as Major Domo stood at his side. They spoke quietly, too low for Shatterstar to overhear them. Once the other ship was sunk – and all the crew dead, with no chance given for surrender – Mojo returned below deck. The rest of them worked to set _The Wildways_ back to rights. The damage had been minimal. 

Shatterstar tended to the injured crew members, of which there were also few. A few cuts, one glancing pistol wound to a shoulder, but nothing terminal. But the wounds, however superficial, could still fester, and he was careful to clean them all, pack them with poultices and wrap them in clean bandages.

Wildcry worked alongside him, watching his every move, eyes fixed on Shatterstar's movements. 

"He's vying for your role," Bloodblade said after, as Shatterstar washed his hands of all the blood. 

"He can have it," Shatterstar replied, drying himself on the cloth Bloodblade handed to him.

Bloodblade regarded him for a long moment then said, leaning closer, "don't do anything stupid." When Shatterstar turned to glare at him, a grin spread over his face, revealing all his teeth. "I'm best in a supporting role. Too stressful otherwise. If I could never fuck again due to the pressure... terrible."

Shatterstar sighed. "Leave me alone," he said and walked away without looking back.

* * *

That night, after he'd eaten his supper, he noticed one of the cabin boys watching him as he cleaned his swords. " _What_?" he finally barked when it became clear the boy was waiting for an invitation. 

"The Captain wants to speak to you," the boy said, gaze locked on Shatterstar's swords. Unlike the others, who often looked on them with mirth, the boy appeared mesmerized. Shatterstar held them out so the boy could look at them more closely. Someday, someone would teach this child to kill a man. 

Once the boy was satisfied, Shatterstar sheathed his swords and went to see Mojo.

In his cabin, the Captain sat at his desk, surrounded by gold and other items they had taken from the other ship. Shatterstar himself had carried over an abundance of silks, spices and jewels. The Captain waved him closer with a flick of his hand, and Shatterstar approached the table, head bowed dutifully.

"A very rich haul for such a tiny ship," Mojo remarked casually, scratching numbers in his ledger. He looked up once he was done, lifting his glass with a decorated hand and bringing it to his mouth. "Has our guest been more forthcoming with his secrets?" the Captain asked, licking the wine from his lips.

"If he knows anything, he will not tell you. Ever," Shatterstar added, feeling his pulse rate increase.

"But you have been so kind to him," the Captain replied, the corner of his mouth lifting into a mockery of his smile. Despite his sanguine expression, Shatterstar could sense his rage simmering under the surface. "Or is it, Shatterstar, that you have not asked him anything? Have you betrayed me for him?"

"No," Shatterstar said quickly, reeling back despite himself. He forced himself to calm. He could do this, he assured himself. He could lie to the Captain. He had done it before. Mojo had not known. "No, sir. I have done exactly what you asked of me, no less. He is... stubborn. Wilful. He would rather die."

"Most men say that until faced with a hangman's noose."

Shatterstar remained silent.

"He bores me now," the Captain said with a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair. "And you know that I do not like to be bored. Tell me, Shatterstar, is there anything I could give him, to compel him to share his secrets? His family is rich beyond imagination. A man could retire and live a long life, with only a share of that wealth in his purse. Is there nothing I could offer him, to make him change his mind?" 

"No," Shatterstar said again, "sir."

The Captain brought a hand to his mouth, pressing a ring to his lower lip. 

Shatterstar endured the scrutiny, forcing his face to remain passive, his posture to stay submissive. 

"What a beautiful man you have grown to be," the Captain remarked suddenly. "Do you know? I've been offered great riches for you. My deadly, beautiful Shatterstar. The stories they'll tell about you." 

Shatterstar willed himself to continue to be motionless. His unease grew. 

Mojo smiled beatifically. "I've told them all no of course. You're precious to me."

Shatterstar could feel his control slipping as a cold chill settled over his body. _Don't_ , he thought. 

"Give him whatever he wants," the Captain said, voice taking on a hard edge. " _Anything_ he wants. This is his last chance. I give him my greatest treasure so he may give me his. In exchange, I will be merciful with him. If he just tells me what _he fucking knows_ , this will all finally be over. A fitting end."

Shatterstar looked down, no longer able to ignore the harshness of his own breath. 

"I know you're a virgin, but it will not kill you," the Captain added kindly, and Shatterstar fought the rise of bile in his throat. _No_ , he thought, helpless as the Captain destroyed his private pleasure. "And as for him... unlike you, he has two eyes, but in the dim, from behind... you would make a pretty woman."

Shatterstar said nothing, his stomach churning, eye fixed on his feet. 

"Tonight, Shatterstar," Mojo said. "I want all of his secrets by sunrise. I want _your_ loyalty."

Unable to force any words from his mouth, he merely nodded, and the Captain dismissed him. Major Domo was standing in the hall outside the door, looking upon him with open disgust, and Shatterstar again thought about how wonderful it would feel to snap his neck. Instead, he turned away from him and went up onto the deck. He sat there for as long as he could, alone, breathing in the warm salt air. 

This ship had felt like his home once upon a time. He grieved for what he had lost.

* * *

Numb, he went to his hammock and gathered his supplies. Though in the grand scheme of everything it no longer mattered, Julio's stitches needed to be removed. It seemed like forever ago, nursing Julio through his illness when he hadn't known Julio's name or anything about him. When he had resented him for upsetting his life. If he could, would Shatterstar take it all back? Would he do it all differently? 

_No_ , he decided. He was a better man for having known him. He regretted nothing. 

Aware of Domo's eyes on him, watching every move, he went to Julio. He turned the key in the door and opened it. Once inside, he locked it behind him. Julio looked up from the bed, his gaunt face half hidden by the shadows and his beard. It had grown in thickly, in the time Shatterstar had known him. 

"Has something happened?" Julio asked.

"I must remove your stitches," Shatterstar replied. "And if you would like one, you could have a bath."

Silent, Julio nodded. 

Standing at the window Julio spent his days staring out of, Shatterstar didn't watch as Julio bathed. He deserved his privacy. Shatterstar listened to the sounds of the washwater and the soft sighs Julio made. As Julio dressed again, Shatterstar finally looked at him then picked up his tools to remove the stitches.

The wound had healed well, better than he expected, though the scar would always be prominent. Julio kept his eyes on Shatterstar's face while he worked, his hands folded in his lap. "Is this it?" he asked, looking up at him through the fringe of his hair. "Who attacked? Was it...?" he trailed off uncertainly. 

"It was just another pirate, eager to steal Mojo's bounty. Looking for you."

Julio made a rueful face. "So this is it."

"I could be the one to..." Shatterstar pinched his lips together. "I would make it quick," he said instead. 

"No," Julio said swiftly, pulling back before Shatterstar could stop him. He had narrowly avoided being sliced by the scalpel Shatterstar held in his hand, though he supposed it wouldn't have mattered either way. "I don't want you to be the one who does it. I can be brave. It has to end eventually, right?"

"You are the bravest man I've ever met," Shatterstar said, trying to smile for him, to comfort him. He still wasn't very good at it, but Julio made him want to try. Ignoring the heat in his eyes, he plucked another stitch out of Julio's forehead. "Mojo did ask me to extend one final offer. In exchange for your secret, he will show you mercy... and you could have me for tonight. He says I would make a pretty woman." 

Julio stared at him for a moment, stunned, and then he laughed, loud and hard, a shocking sound. "He said that? In those exact words?" Julio asked, and Shatterstar nodded, ignoring the flicker of embarrassment he felt. But Julio noticed it, and his expression immediately softened. "I apologize. It's not that it's you... but Mojo doesn't know _shit_. Believe me when I say that. Whatever he's told you, whatever he's made you believe... he doesn't know anything. He thinks I betrayed my family."

"You wouldn't," Shatterstar said, and Julio laughed again.

"No," he agreed, almost giddy, "I wouldn't." 

"If I thought it would save you..." 

"I wouldn't ask it of you," Julio assured him. "I'm not that type of man either. But thank you. Truly."

Shatterstar nodded and turned his attention to the last two stitches, quickly removing them. He knew he should leave and inform Mojo of his failure, but whether it happened now or at sunrise, it didn't matter. Their punishments would be the same. And he wanted nothing more than to spend the night with Julio.

Julio, as if he knew what Shatterstar was thinking, said, "will you stay with me? For a little longer?"

Shatterstar nodded. 

"I know you're tired of stories, but I'd like to tell you mine if you would hear it. I want someone to know why I did what I did. I want someone to remember what the stories will never tell them." Julio shuffled on the bed, making room, and Shatterstar sat down beside him. Julio smiled wryly. "Though forgive me if it takes a bit to start. I have never... I thought I would take all of this to the grave."

"We have time," Shatterstar assured him, and Julio smiled at him again, bright and pure.

* * *

The silence between them was comfortable. Shatterstar kept his gaze on Julio's face, memorizing every mark on his skin, the way his hair curled slightly against his neck. He hated Mojo again, for trying to ruin what he felt about Julio, reducing it to a transaction, to a mere _thing_ instead of a perfect feeling. 

He wasn't a weapon to be used. He was a man, desperate for connection. He'd been so lonely. 

For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to feel everything, and it was overwhelming. 

"They wanted me to marry," Julio said suddenly. "All of this... they wanted me to marry, and I couldn't. My entire life... I knew who they wanted me to be. The heir to my father's empire. I wish I could say I took issue with anything we've done, but I don't. The world is a cruel place, and if people want to kill each other, who am I to stop them? I've ended lives, too. I'm not a saint. I know where I come from." 

Shatterstar watched his face and how expressive it had become.

"I would never have loved a wife as she deserved. I would have been kind to her, but I would have been cold. I wouldn't have desired her. My father loved my mother fiercely. When she passed, he loved my other mother just as deep. My parents showed me what love was. And I couldn't... there is something wrong with me, fundamentally, as a man." It looked like it had taken great effort to force the words out. 

Hearing them, Shatterstar felt something ease inside him, though he couldn't define what it was. 

"When my father died, my uncles decided everything for me. I was a child. But as I grew into a man..." Julio thinned his lips. "If they had just let me be... but they kept insisting, kept pressing the matter. I had never thought of myself as anything other than a Richter. But once I did... I've always had issues with authority. I don't like to be told what to do. The more they pushed, the harder I pushed back."

"That I do not find surprising," Shatterstar said softly, and Julio grinned at him before sobering again. 

"They didn't need me. I was just... there were better people in the family, people who cared about the work we do, who wanted the life laid out before them. But I had the misfortune of being the eldest son." Julio shrugged. "So I worked in secret, building what wealth I could. I thought to move to one of the islands. Or to the northern colonies. Somewhere far from home, where I could live, anonymous."

"Is that where you were going, when you were taken?"

Julio nodded. "I couldn't go north by land. My family has eyes all over Mexico. So I went east, risking the sea instead. I took Hodge at his word, not realizing he recognized me as a Richter or that his discovery would make it to Mojo. I keep trusting people even when I shouldn't. What a fool I am."

"It isn't wrong to want a better life," Shatterstar said. "Or to give your trust to someone."

"I'm going to die for the attempt. It feels wrong." Julio huffed, pressing his hand against his mouth as he stared down at his bare feet. Shatterstar hadn't unshackled him, so he did that now, removing the manacle from his ankle. "Mojo took all my gold, and whatever childish dreams I had died with him."

"I will remember what you've told me," Shatterstar promised. "I will hold your story." 

Julio nodded, looking away. Another silence settled between them, not precisely comfortable, but Shatterstar let Julio take all the time he needed. He had hated talking about himself, but he was glad Julio knew so much about who he was, and he appreciated how much Julio had so freely given him. 

Eventually, Julio spoke again. "Did you understand what I meant before, when I told you I was...?" 

"I understood," he said. 

"Does that repulse you?" 

"No. The rules on land don't generally apply to pirates," Shatterstar replied, glancing over at him, seeing the distress in Julio's eyes. He sat up, turning to meet him face to face, and Julio stared back, wary. Shatterstar had always just accepted people as they were; he had never felt conflicted about it. "People cannot help who they are attracted to. As long as their partner is willing, why does it matter?"

"It matters," Julio replied tightly. 

"It shouldn't," Shatterstar said then added, because he didn't like so see Julio so unhappy, "and you are not alone. Though I have spent most of my life ignoring my own base desires... there are times my body has acted on its own. And it has never had a preference," he added, lighter than he felt. To think, in different circumstances, they might have lived a happy life together. It was agonizing to consider. 

Julio looked at him for a long moment then turned away, hiding his expression. "You _have_ made this easier," he said, soft, bowing his head. His voice was rough and wet; Shatterstar shared his sorrow. 

"I'm glad," Shatterstar said and truly meant it, even as his heart was breaking.

* * *

Shatterstar had never spent so much time with someone about to die. He had thought, before Julio, that death was just a natural part of life. You made choices, and they led you to the end, one way or the other. At Julio's end, he finally understood that sometimes death came too early, that it could be unfair.

They spoke softly, for hours, about their lives. 

Julio told him about his happy childhood, about his mothers and the father who had died. Shatterstar understood that he loved his family wholeheartedly, but he also knew that the light that shone in Julio when he spoke about them would have gone out the longer he had lived the lie they wanted for him. 

Shatterstar had little left to say. Everything he was, everything he remembered, Julio already knew.

But he could tell him the truth. 

"I wanted to," Shatterstar said abruptly, in a pause between their words. Julio lifted his gaze, his dark eyes beautifully expressive. "To go to bed with you. That Mojo would prostitute me to solve his own problems... I shouldn't have been surprised by his words, and yet I was. My body is the only thing that is truly mine. My swords, my books... I treasure them, deeply, but they are the tools I need to live."

Julio said nothing, but he radiated concern and understanding. 

"For the entirety of my life, I have simply... _accepted_ whatever was given to me. I have never wanted anything solely for myself. I didn't think I was allowed to. But I... desired you. I still do. If that upsets you..."

"It doesn't," Julio assured him. "I have spent weeks locked in this room. A man can only read so much before his mind wanders." His smile revealed itself again brightly. "If we are being honest with each other, that night you tended to my ankle... I nearly spent right there, in the dark, feeling your hands on me. The thoughts I have indulged about you since... you have no idea how beautiful you are."

"Mojo told me I was a monster."

"He lied," Julio said simply. "I think he lied to you about a lot of things."

"I think he did as well," Shatterstar replied. "Thank you," he added, grateful, and Julio smiled again. 

They lapsed into silence once more. The night had grown late. While Shatterstar was exhausted, he could not have slept even if wanted to. Every second felt precious, not be wasted. The sky was clear, the moonlight as bright as he had ever seen it. It made it easier to look at Julio's face and meet his eyes. 

"Have you ever lain with a man?" Shatterstar asked, noting the shadow that bloomed on Julio's cheeks.

Julio snorted softly. "I couldn't shit without someone commenting on it. No. Where I'm from... there was nowhere to hide. I couldn't fade into the crowd. I could barely get my hand on my own prick without one of my cousins walking in on me mid-spend. No, I have led a thoroughly boring life."

"Were you not once kidnapped by pirates?"

Julio made a face, shaking his head reproachfully, but Shatterstar could tell he'd found the humour in it. 

Shatterstar wanted to do more for him. He wanted to give him everything he could. Not because Mojo told him to, not because it was expected of him, but because he genuinely wanted to, because Julio wanted him to. He wouldn't ask, Shatterstar realized, recognizing his desire mirrored in Julio's gaze, but Shatterstar could offer. He didn't know how, but it couldn't be that hard to figure out. Lesser men had.

Shatterstar put his hand on Julio's face and dragged his thumb over his mouth. He leaned over and pressed his lips to the spot he had just touched. Julio inhaled sharply, staring at him with startled eyes, and Shatterstar kissed him again. He had a wonderfully responsive mouth, and Shatterstar licked into it.

They kissed forever. Shatterstar kept one hand on Julio's face, tilting his head at the perfect angle. He leaned into him as Julio's fingers combed into his hair, cupping him around the back of his head. _This is what he tastes like_ , he thought, sliding his tongue into his hot mouth. _Remember this, remember him_.

He wanted it to last a lifetime, but eventually, they pulled apart. Shatterstar rose to a stand, chest heaving, then pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. He did the same to his breeches, pushing them down his legs, revealing his cock. It stood hard between his legs as Julio's eyes raked over him. 

"This won't save me," Julio cautioned him, looking up and meeting his eye. 

"I know," Shatterstar replied. "That isn't why I'm doing it. This is my body, and I choose what happens to it. I _want_ to lie with you. I want it more than I have ever wanted anything. If this feeling is mutual – if this is something you are also interested in – then we will share the night as lovers." 

Julio regarded him a moment longer, gaze heady, then tugged off his own shirt. The breeches – too big for him, too long in the legs and too wide in the hips – followed, and then they were both naked. Julio was as aroused as he was, his prick hard and dark on his belly. Exposing himself fully, Julio lay back, and Shatterstar moved over him. At the first touch of bare skin against bare skin, they both inhaled sharply.

"I haven't fucked a woman either," Julio blurted out, skimming a tentative hand over Shatterstar's side. 

"Then it is a good thing I am not a woman," Shatterstar said and bent down to kiss him again.

* * *

Part of him wanted to rush this, convinced that it would be stolen from them if they dallied, but the other part savoured the feeling of Julio's body against his, the intimacy of flesh on flesh. Julio's fingers explored his body freely, roaming over his back and his chest and his arse, urging him ever closer. 

At one point, he moved his hand to Shatterstar's face and removed his eye-patch. Shatterstar let him, despite his self-consciousness, and tried not to react when Julio skimmed the pads of his fingers over the edge of the star-shaped mark. At that moment, Shatterstar wished he could see him with both eyes. 

He wished a lot of things were different, but if this was all they had, then he refused to waste it.

It was Julio who touched him first, sliding a hand over his aching prick. It felt unbelievably good, better than his own hand had, the few times he had attempted to relax enough to pleasure himself. His hips twisted against the bed as his legs opened up, helpless to resist the sensation of Julio's firm hand.

"Do you like that?" Julio asked, sucking at his offered neck, marking him. Shatterstar moaned softly, trying to swallow the sounds of his own desire. Julio's teeth grazed his skin. "Do you want to spend?"

"Not yet," Shatterstar told him, protesting when Julio's hand slowed on him, understanding, and not, why his hand couldn't continue as it had. "Not yet," he said again, bringing him in for another kiss. 

They rolled over in the bed together. With Julio on his back again, he kissed over Julio's body, down between his legs, and took him into his mouth as Julio pulled at his hair, twisting it between his fingers. Here, he smelled almost earthy, and Shatterstar pressed his nose to his skin, scenting him. He wanted his memory of this at its fullest, no detail forgotten. He sucked at Julio again, tasting the fluid on him. 

Above him, Julio shifted helplessly, eyes closed, head thrown back. It made a very pretty picture. 

Shatterstar brought him to the edge then kept him there. He rolled him onto his stomach then kissed over his back as his hips pumped desperately against the mattress. He thought about how amazing it might feel to fuck into him, to press his prick between his arse and fill him up. He might have been inexperienced in body, but he had grown up listening to pirates talk. He knew of all the possibilities.

But first, he wanted to worship Julio's body as he deserved. He moved his hands over him, his lips always close to follow. Julio swore, low and impatient, but Shatterstar ignored him. He kissed over the small of his back, pressing his mouth to each swell of flesh beneath it. Then he put his face between Julio's legs and kissed at the centre of him. Julio kicked out with a shout that he buried in the blankets. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Shatterstar asked. 

"No, no, please continue," Julio gasped, squirming beneath him, and Shatterstar licked at him again. It was a powerful feeling, to guide another person through such an experience, and Shatterstar found his own pleasure in it. He curled two fingers inside Julio, fucking him in time with the push of his tongue. The sounds Julio made... Shatterstar felt the warmth rise between his legs like a wave in a storm. 

Shatterstar spent right there, with Julio on his fingers, without ever touching himself. 

Fucking his hips onto Shatterstar's hand, Julio followed him down the same twisting path. Burying his face in the blankets, Julio made the most wonderful sounds before collapsing bonelessly onto the bed. Dazed, his own semen cooling on his thighs, Shatterstar slid behind him and pressed against his back. 

"It's not enough," Shatterstar said, hot into his ear, and Julio turned in his arms and kissed him again.

* * *

They spent the entire night like that, twisted up in each other. Even when their pricks softened, they kissed and touched and took what they could from each other. He remained aware of the time, of the ever-looming sunrise and what it would mean, but it only spurred him to use every moment fully. 

This was all they had. This was all they would ever have. They had to make it count. 

Though his vitality had diminished throughout his captivity, Julio still responded powerfully to his ministrations. Shatterstar found great personal satisfaction in drawing startled gasps and keening moans from Julio's mouth. His hands roamed Julio's body, plucking at pleasure points that Shatterstar had only read about in books. The human body was a marvel, and Julio's, in particular, was fascinating to him. 

Julio protested when Shatterstar stood up from the bed. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked.

"I want more," Shatterstar told him, grabbing the vial he wanted. He climbed back over him. Julio's arms immediately came around his shoulders, drawing him in for a kiss. Blindly, Shatterstar slicked up Julio's prick with the oil. Julio's kisses became ever more urgent, his teeth biting at Shatterstar's lips.

"Fuck," Julio gasped, startled by the shift of Shatterstar's hips. The blunt head of Julio's cock poked at his arse. Sodomy was not unknown to him. He'd seen men rutting together in the dark corners. He had known the science behind it, why it might be pleasurable, but he hadn't accounted for what he felt now.

He exhaled sharply, forcing his body to relax, then took the time needed to accept Julio's intrusion. Julio watched him with wide, reverent eyes, his fingers rubbing gently over Shatterstar's back and sides. Finally, he was fully seated, fully filled. He rocked his hips experimentally. Julio hissed.

"Did you like that?" Shatterstar asked, though he suspected he knew the answer already. 

Julio put one hand on his hip and thrust up into him. "What do you think?" he asked, grinning. 

They fucked for as long as either of them lasted, which wasn't long at all. Clinging to each other with desperate arms, Shatterstar's prick pressed between their bellies, they moved as one body. Their kisses took on the same level of urgency, tongues sliding hotly together as if each kiss could be their last. 

With one final twist of his hips, Shatterstar streaked white between them. Julio gasped against his mouth, fingers tightening on Shatterstar's back, as the pulse of his cock filled him. They stayed like that for as long as they could, Shatterstar's spend cooling on their shared skin. Eventually, they pulled apart. 

As light began to fill the room, they lay together, quiet and exhausted. Reality began to intrude again, the ship coming awake around them. Shatterstar wanted to turn over and remain in the dream. There would be no denying what had happened. What Shatterstar had done and what he had failed to do.

Shatterstar would have laid there forever if it meant none of this ended. 

But it had to. All stories had endings. He knew it, and so did Julio. It was Julio who sat up first, pulling his clothes back on. It was Julio who kissed him for the last time. It was Julio who smiled at him.

"You are better than this," Julio said, putting a hand on his face. Shatterstar leaned into him, starved for touch after years of feeling nothing. "I think you know that, but in case you needed to hear it..."

Shatterstar blinked at the heat in his eyes, unable to find the words to respond to him. 

Julio tried again, his voice taking on an urgent tone. "Listen to me, Shatterstar. I need you to believe it. Whatever you have done, whoever you have been... there is a goodness in you that is real. You made my life better in the worst of circumstances. I owe you more than I have left to give. Believe me." 

Shatterstar wasn't sure he did, but it felt better to lie. He was good at that now. He nodded numbly. 

"Good," Julio said, handing him his clothes, including his eye-patch. "Good," he repeated, relieved. 

Shatterstar dressed slowly, aware of the marks on his body and the stories they told. He put the patch back on, scratchy and uncomfortable on his cheek. They didn't touch again, and they didn't speak again. There were no goodbyes, no tears. Shatterstar felt hollow, like something had been ripped out of him. 

He left the room and went to the captain's cabin, where both he and Domo were waiting for him. He put the key down on Mojo's desk then squared his shoulders. "He declines your offer," Shatterstar said. 

Mojo's face went red, replacing the yellow hue of his skin in an instant. The table turned over, sending papers and breakfast flying, but Shatterstar refused to flinch. Mojo struck him once, hard, across the face, the rings on his fingers splitting his skin, then struck him again when he still refused to cower.

"Make an example of him," Mojo said with a sneer of disgust, wiping his fingers with his handkerchief.

Domo smiled. "With pleasure, my lord," he said and led Shatterstar above deck.

* * *

Shatterstar was stripped to his breeches, beaten then tied to the mast. His face and back ached, and for the first few hours, he drifted in and out of consciousness, either from injury or lack of sleep. He hadn't been made a spectacle of, which meant each time a new crew member came on deck, there was another dramatic reaction. He didn't know what story would pass between them to explain this. He didn't care.

He regretted nothing. He would do it all the same. Let them see how far he'd fallen in Mojo's regard. 

He regretted _nothing_.

The sun bore down on him relentlessly throughout the day. If he was hungry or thirsty, he didn't acknowledge either feeling. His anger sustained him. He had done everything Mojo had ever asked of him. He had kept his mind and body pure from distractions, always ready to fight and defend. He had followed all of his rules and acted all of his scenes, and then Mojo had... asked too much. Tested him. 

Because it had been a test. Shatterstar understood that now. It had been a test, and he'd failed.

And he still regretted nothing. 

When he wasn't sleeping, he thought of Julio and all they had done together. They hadn't been shy or cautious with each other. They had matched desires, wills, and Julio had smiled at him, more than once. One night hadn't been enough. He wanted more, a lifetime with him. He let himself dream of what it would be like. On land, of course, because Julio had no sea legs at all. Shatterstar would learn to like it.

He'd known land living before, though he possessed no memory that was good. He let himself wonder, finally, who Rita had been and what Mojo had held over her. From the first day he had joined _The Wildways_ , he had spared her no more thought, his boyish excitement too great to contain, but he thought about her now.

She had been a deeply unhappy woman. He understood that now. They had been miserable together. 

How many lives had Mojo ruined? How many futures had he taken?

Why had they all just gone along with it? He was outnumbered, and they had been trained to be killers. 

What did any of them owe him?

It was that thought that sobered him. It felt mutinous. Deep in the pit of his stomach, where all his guilt and his regret and his sorrow lay, pushed down and ignored, he knew it was. Despite everything, the crew remained loyal to Mojo. He paid them well, kept them fed and sheltered, ensured they were _entertained_. He had a charisma that even Shatterstar could not deny. He had been charmed by him, too.

He hated him. He thought, in some ways, he always had, but little good that realization did him now.

Too late. Too late by far. 

The loneliness hit at sundown, cold and menacing, opening up like a chasm underneath him.

Every part of him was in pain. His skin burned hot even as he found himself shivering. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he wet his parched lips with a barely moist tongue. Just when he thought he might beg for relief, Bloodblade knelt down and offered up a cup of water. Shatterstar stared at him.

"I have permission," Bloodblade assured him, keeping his voice low, pressing the edge of the metal cup to Shatterstar's lips. "He wants you chastened and humiliated, not dead. Drink, please, before I have to force you." Shatterstar opened his mouth, letting him tip a trickle of water down his throat. Over and over, they repeated the action until the cup was empty. Bloodblade sat back on his heels, regarding him. 

Shatterstar endured his scrutiny. Bloodblade was the last person in any position to judge. 

"Was it worth it?" Bloodblade asked, finally, voice barely rising over the sound of the waves.

Shatterstar looked at him, mouth drawn into a tight line, and deigned not to answer. 

Bloodblade made a sound in his throat, just a small a hum, but it sounded pleased. He rose to a stand.

For a moment, Shatterstar thought Bloodblade might touch him – how or why, he didn't know, since they'd had no significant physical contact beyond fighting and wound tending since they had both been cabin boys, huddled together at night, seeking comfort they could never find – but Bloodblade kept his hands to himself. He looked down at him, expression impenetrable, then left.

* * *

He remained tied there for another two days on display. Killfire brought him water the second time. All Shatterstar knew about him was that he'd managed seven years aboard _The Wildways_ and had an intricate pattern of long-healed scar tissue that ran from his hip to his ear, as if he'd once been burned. He had never asked for treatment, had never inquired about potions, and Shatterstar had never offered. 

That third day, the sky overcast and threatening rain, the door to the captain's cabin opened. Mojo and Domo came on deck, speaking quietly to each other. Shatterstar met Mojo's gaze, defiant, knowing what he looked like – skin inflamed with the sun, lips parched and cracked, covered in filth – and not caring. Had his father looked like this, at the end? Or had he never gotten this far? Had that been a lie, too? 

He might never know. That troubled him deeply. 

A hum spread among the crew. Shatterstar turned his head to where they all looked. Roughwind and one of the others had Julio griped by the arms. His wrists had been bound with rope, and there was a faint shadow of a bruise on his right cheek. Shatterstar imagined his own face looked much the same. 

Julio turned to him, hair blowing in the wind, and smiled, bright and beautiful. 

Shatterstar, helpless to resist his pull, smiled back. 

Mojo snapped at Domo, and Julio was quickly ushered to the edge of the ship. His shoulders remained square, his back proud, as Roughwind worked to lower him down into one of the boats. Shatterstar became aware of where they were: anchored again in the waters of Nassau but on the outskirts. He was less familiar with this part of it, away from the bustle of the town but still close enough to be noticed. 

It made a twisted sort of sense to pick this spot. 

Why simply kill a man and toss his body overboard when you could make a show of it instead?

Wildcry approached from his left side. Sagging as his bonds fell to the deck, Shatterstar managed, mercifully, to stay on his legs. With a suitable display of roughness, Wildcry tied his hands at the wrists, tight enough to cut into the skin, then tugged. Shatterstar dutifully followed. His mind raced as he struggled to take stock of the situation. It had never occurred to him that Mojo might kill him, too. 

Did Mojo actually understand what he had done? Did he realize he had pushed his most loyal pet too far? Shatterstar doubted it. That would require self-reflection, and Mojo had no capacity for that. Like Julio, Shatterstar didn't want to die, but like Julio, he could face it bravely. He would never regret this.

Wildcry led him across the deck, all eyes on him, curious. It began to rain, a light drizzle that brought relief to his overheated skin. He lifted his face to it, taking a deep breath, filling his lungs. It made it easier to tolerate the careless way they treated his body as he was forced roughly down to the water. 

When Julio looked at him again, from the other boat, he was no longer smiling. 

Neither Mojo nor Domo joined them. Shatterstar found that surprising, but he understood when he saw the terrain. Shatterstar still felt weak from his punishment, unsure if he could make the climb, but they dragged him when he stumbled. That infuriated him. He used that feeling to propel himself forward.

The wind picked up, howling in fury; the rain followed, a relentless downpour that drenched them all.

They made it to the top of the bluffs, where a single tree grew. He had no doubt it was visible from the ship. One of the men forced Shatterstar to his knees, pressing his foot against Shatterstar's leg. Wildcry pulled a spike from his satchel and hammered the ropes around Shatterstar's wrists into the ground. 

Shatterstar pulled, once, but it didn't budge. Wildcry laughed. "Did you think the Captain meant for you to join him?" he asked, loud enough that the others could hear. Shatterstar hadn't liked him from the start, but he hated him then, with that smile on his face. "No, he simply wants you to enjoy the show."

Roughwind finished tying the noose around one of the large branches and stepped back to admire his work. Shatterstar pulled at his bonds again, the rope cutting into his skin. Blood roared in his ears, louder than the noise of the storm. Julio's face remained bland as one of the others looped the noose around his neck, brushing his hair free. There were marks on his neck that Shatterstar had put there.

A third time, eye fixed on Julio's face, he pulled at the ropes and both thumbs popped out of joint.

None of them, not even Mojo, had ever grasped the depth of rage in him, the anger he lived with every day. He had learned to control it, harness it, but it had never eased, not once, in the days since he had first awoke in that house with Rita. He hadn't been afraid then, just angry, for reasons he hadn't understood. 

When he was angry, he felt nothing else. Certainly not pain.

He yanked on his bonds a fourth time, and that was enough to free his hands. He ripped the stake from the rain-soaked ground and drove it through Wildcry's right eye. As he fell, Shatterstar grabbed his sword and struck down the next man. He pulled the pistol from that man's vest and shot another in the head then dropped it in the long grass. That man had four daggers, and he threw three of them. Two missed, but the last stuck in the base of the third nameless man's throat. He'd been aiming for his heart. 

Mojo had only sent six men. If he had asked, Shatterstar would have told him it wouldn't be enough. 

Roughwind lunged at him, sword out, and Shatterstar moved with him, drawing him in and forcing the fourth dagger up through his chin. Roughwind gurgled once, red and bloody, then tipped over. The last man grabbed the sword still stuck in Shatterstar's side. It brought him close enough to snap his neck. 

And then it was done. He fell to his knees in the soft earth, rain pouring relentlessly down. The rage still whirled in him, like his skin contained only flames. He snapped his thumbs back into place, and with one impatient tug, he removed the sword from his side. Both should have hurt; he felt nothing. 

"This is who I am," Shatterstar said to Julio, who watched him, the rope still looped around his neck.

* * *

The storm would give the scene cover, but the minute the curtains were lifted, Mojo and _The Wildways_ would see that it had gone terribly wrong. Shatterstar had signed his own death sentence and felt surprisingly free for having done so. Julio could have the life he had dreamed of. That made him happy. 

With a hand pressed into his side to stanch the bleeding, he searched through the bodies, looking for whatever hidden loot he could find. He had sewn pieces of eight into the sashes he wore, and the others had as well. He tossed everything he found into a pile. He could feel Julio watching his every move.

Shatterstar had not seen when Julio had taken the noose off. He was standing on his left side. 

"I will find you safe harbour," Shatterstar told him. "I know which captains are honourable."

"Could you please stop?" Julio asked, coming into his line of sight. He looked deeply troubled. "Just for a moment. You took a sword to the belly," he added as if Shatterstar had somehow not noticed.

"It hit nothing vital," Shatterstar replied, getting up and crouching next to the pile. He sifted through the bounty, looking for items that could be easily bartered. He kept the list of possible captains in his head. With a little luck, at least one of them was anchored close by. "This should be enough as a start." 

"Shatterstar, _stop_ ," Julio said, tone sharp and commanding, and Shatterstar looked at him. 

"We have limited time," he said dully, blood squeezing through his fingers. When Julio reached for him, he pulled back. "If I stop, even for a moment, I will not be able to start again. Do you understand? I need to get you to a ship. I need to know you are safe aboard it. I need to see it with my own eye." 

"I won't leave you like this." Julio pushed his wet hair out of his face. "Don't fucking ask me to."

"If you don't go then this was all for nothing. Please," Shatterstar said, his voice hitching on the word. "Live your life and be happy. Find a handsome man who will treat you kindly." Julio's face turned to agony as the pain in Shatterstar's belly licked to full flame. "You deserve to be loved as you are."

"Come with me then," Julio blurted out. "I know we barely know each other, but we connected, didn't we? I felt it. I know you did, too." Something broke in Shatterstar's chest at those words, and Julio, somehow sensing that, softened as he continued, "so come with me. Be that handsome man for me." 

For a moment, Shatterstar was tempted. A lifetime of possibilities opened up before him, each one better than the last, but he ignored them. He had to. "Mojo will never let me go. You know who he is. You know what he did to my parents. He will do that to you. A child does not give up his favourite toy easily."

"I can handle myself," Julio said, stepping up to him, meeting him face to face. "I'm a Richter. With the right mix of chemicals, I can blow that ship to ashes. I have every recipe in my head, every cache, every chemist. And if nothing else, I'm an excellent shot. I'll shoot the fucker in the face myself."

Shatterstar found himself laughing, low and rueful like Julio often did. "I don't doubt that," Shatterstar said, fingers digging into his torso. The cut was deeper than he had thought. Perhaps it was mortal after all. He tried to smile. "But you are half the man you were. We were not kind to you." 

"Then come with me," Julio tried again. "We'll heal, recover our strength. We will..."

"I cannot hide," Shatterstar said, cutting him off. "My face. My hair. We would not have the time for any of that. He would find me. This is his domain, his stage. Do you understand? As long as we are together, you are in danger. I cannot have that. I cannot bear it. You have to go without me and _live_." 

"And leave you here to die alone?"

 _Yes_ , Shatterstar wanted to say, telling the truth, but he found the lie came easier to his lips. "I will do what it takes to recover. Split up, he will be forced to choose between us, and he will pick me. And then I will kill him. Once he is dead, I will come. I will be your man for as long are you want me to be."

Julio regarded him with deep suspicion. "And how would I contact you? To tell you where I'd gone?"

"I am... friendly with a man here named Nathan Summers. If you sent word to him, I would get it."

Obviously still skeptical, Julio frowned, eyes fixed on Shatterstar, mouth drawn into a tight line. Shatterstar endured the scrutiny, even though it wasted precious time. The storm looked like it would persist a while longer, but Shatterstar didn't want to press their chances. His belly needed to be tended to if he didn't want it to fester. If he even wanted to live. 

And he did, he decided right then, staring at Julio's handsome face with the rain pouring down on them. 

He would kill Mojo. 

And in order to do that, he had to live. Of all the impossible things Shatterstar had ever been asked to do, this one was not the worst. He had no idea how to get from this point to that one, but his mind had always been his greatest weapon, and that was still intact, even though he already missed his swords. 

"If by the time you are settled, you still want me, I give you my word that I will come to you when you ask," Shatterstar said, meaning it this time. "But if you change your mind... I will not hold you to any of this. We had a nice time together. We shared something special. But neither of us can deny what I am."

"I won't change my mind," Julio said with the conviction of a man who hadn't just gone through an ordeal. Later, Shatterstar suspected things would look different, once the memories had faded a little. 

Still, he offered his hand to Julio – the one free of keeping him from bleeding out – and after a moment of hesitation, Julio took it. They shook. Under his guidance, Julio gathered the items Shatterstar had collected for him. He made a makeshift bandage for himself and found a wearable shirt. He wrapped his hair with a scarf, covering the worst of it, but there was nothing he could do to hide the eye-patch.

* * *

It was a long walk back to Nassau, especially as Shatterstar's pain returned, but he kept one foot in front of the other. He had spent much of his adult life moving through the streets, evading Mojo's spies, and he used those skills now, bringing them to the harbour. He almost wept when he saw the ships. 

"That one," Shatterstar said, pointing at the most impressive of the galleons in the water. Julio's gaze followed the line of his arm. " _The Nightcrawler_. By all accounts, Captain Wagner is a fair and pious man. He keeps his word, and he is not cruel. I had hoped he would be here. I have never met him, and I would not use my name to garner any favours, but by reputation... he stands alone among his peers."

"I've heard of him," Julio admitted reluctantly. "You are sure he will take me?"

"He is your best chance," Shatterstar replied. "You should go now before the weather clears." 

Julio nodded, his body taking on the defiant pose that had served him so well during his time aboard _The Wildways_. Ignoring the panicked part that didn't want to be alone again, Shatterstar hardened his heart and stepped back, making it easier for him to go. Julio looked at him and smiled. 

He curled a hand around the back of Shatterstar's neck and kissed him deeply, full of promise and perhaps something deeper. He thought perhaps they loved each other. When they finally parted, they kept their heads together. "I'll see you again," Julio said, squeezing him firmly before pulling back. 

"You will," Shatterstar assured him, finding his own small smile and letting Julio see it. 

Shatterstar watched from his vantage point as Julio walked down to the water, speaking to one of the boats on the beach. He stood there for another hour, waiting until Wagner himself crossed over the sand. Julio exchanged words with him. When they finally shook hands, Shatterstar exhaled with relief. 

Julio was brought aboard _The Nightcrawler_ and then it was done.

Shatterstar turned around and headed back the way he had come. Ignoring the pain in his body – the sword wound was the worst of it, though the burn on his skin remained a nuisance – he forced his mind to find a solution to his immediate problem. He considered Nathan but quickly dismissed him as an option. What he needed was basic shelter – a place to recover and, if he was lucky, tend his wounds.

Though he had been there only once and he still did not know where Bloodblade's allegiances truly laid, he went to the secret room in the brothel that Bloodblade had shared with him. Going through the entrance would draw too much attention, but the room had a balcony attached. It took him longer to climb to the second floor than he would have liked, but he managed it. The window was unlocked. 

The room was unlit, but the light from outside the door seeped in, giving him just enough to see. There was no sign that Bloodblade had been there recently. Looking around, he found a full pitcher of water, six bottles of rum and a medical kit that contained a needle and catgut. _Lucky_ , Shatterstar thought, sitting down to work. He stripped off his soiled shirt, dropping it haphazardly onto the floor. 

He sewed his back first, blind, getting four stitches done before accepting the rest were impossible. The front was better, though by then his strength had sapped. His fingers were clumsy, his thumbs barely functional. The catgut felt more slippery than usual, but he managed to finally seal his wound. He dumped another bottle of rum onto the stitches then took a long drink for himself. He washed his hands clean. Possessing just enough energy to strip off his soiled breeches, he tossed them alongside his shirt.

He kept the eye-patch on. He didn't know why. 

He slept, dreaming of nothing, not even Julio, too exhausted for even that.

* * *

Shatterstar woke later. He had no idea if hours or days had passed. His wound remained raw, but there were no signs of infection. On the table, there was a fresh pitcher of water and a plate of cheese, tarts and fruit. He ate a bit without wondering where it had come from and then promptly went back to bed.

He did not see whoever was tending him until a week had passed. He'd spent most of his time sleeping, recovering from the ordeal his body had been put through. There had been a high fever at one point, but he'd pushed through it. If anyone had attacked him then, he would have died just from the thought.

When he'd normally be asleep, a woman slipped into the room. He'd dreamt of Julio and woken up in a panic, convinced he was dead. Unsure of her intentions, he sat in the middle of Bloodblade's bed, completely naked and at his weakest. Shatterstar had seen her before, once, outside this very door. 

She looked surprised to see him awake, but without acknowledging him beyond that, she refilled the pitcher of water and replaced the food he had eaten. She remained there with him, silent, for more than an hour. She washed as he tried not to watch, eye fixed on the ceiling, and switched the dress she wore. 

She even ate a bit of the food, though she left the majority untouched. Eventually, she left.

That became the routine. Each day, he woke earlier, stayed awake longer. He found a collection of books in one of the chests around the room. They must have been hers, but she never asked him not to read them. She never spoke to him at all. Most men would have at least grown restless and bristled at being locked in a single room with all the windows covered, but Shatterstar had never been most men.

He used the time he had to its full advantage. 

While he recovered, he lay there, still, staring at the ceiling. Thinking of _The Wildways_ and Mojo and all the weaknesses he could exploit. He slotted each crew member into a list that started with Bloodblade and ended with the cabin boys. Bloodblade remained the enigma – either he was with Shatterstar or he was against him. One on one, Shatterstar still held the advantage, but it was a slim one. Being forced to fight Bloodblade and a second man, even a cabin boy, would shift that paradigm. 

So it had to be Bloodblade first, followed by Firststrike, Gunrage and Killfire, in that order. The named before the nameless, the men before the boys. If it came to that. He hoped it didn't. The men had made their choices as men, but the cabin boys had been children. On that, he found he agreed with Julio. 

Without his human shields, Mojo was vulnerable. Neither Mojo nor Domo were in the prime of their lives, but they had experience, sharp minds and cruel souls. Shatterstar could not discount that. If he did this by daylight, with a full crew, it would be suicide, but if he bid his time, worked in shadows... 

Would Mojo dare leave himself unprotected, without Shatterstar's body as proof? He doubted it.

His mind worked when his body could not. As the days passed and became weeks, he began to train his body again. He lifted whatever he could find in the room, ran in place without making sound, dismantled a chair and used the legs as makeshift swords. In the early goings, he always slept deep and hard afterwards, barely able to move, but he saw improvement every day. He pushed onward, resolute. 

The woman never uttered a word to him, and he did not ask her to. It appeared they had an agreement.

He just wished he knew what it was. 

He kept meticulous track of the days, waking each morning to fold the corner of another page of the book he kept by his bedside. Mentally, he forced himself to keep strong, but he had moments in the dark where he doubted himself, where he felt a paralyzing fear. And sometimes, as if it was a kindness, his brain gave him happy things: bright dreams of Julio, healthy and alive, of kissing him and being kissed, of fucking him and being fucked. He found he liked the feeling of his own hand on his prick. 

It made him feel human, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

* * *

Time passed, each day better than the last. He knew what he had to do. In theory, it was easy. But he was still unarmed, and that was an issue. He was sure Nathan would have helped him if he had asked, but Shatterstar found he could not sacrifice Nathan's life just because it would have saved his own. 

Weeks after the day he had let Julio go, Shatterstar woke up and realized he was ready. His wound had healed nicely, the scars flat and pink. All his other injuries were long gone, just faint memories. His anger simmered below the surface, eager for revenge, but he kept it quiet, locked deep inside. He didn't look forward to what he had to do, but it had to be done. For Julio, his parents, the crew, and himself. 

Some nights, as he waited for his moment, he watched the activity down below. He was sure this place was a brothel, on some level at least, but it was unlike any bawdy house he had seen before. It was far too active during the day. There was also less debauchery than he expected, though the people – in pairs, in larger groups, no one bound by expectations of sex and gender from what he observed – could be amorous. Almost no pirates came through the doors, and some of the clients were clearly women.

He wondered how Bloodblade had found his way here. The glimpses he saw through the curtains gave him no hints. What had he been looking for that it had led him to this? Knowing him, he'd likely been enticed in by his cock and whatever he discovered after he'd had his prick tended to almost accidental.

The woman still did not speak to him, but his urge to ask questions began to grow. 

Then one evening, before he could break their silent contract, she came into his room and had his swords in her arms, wrapped in linen. He thought she would put them on the table, but she brought them to him, handing them over as if they were precious. He took them with a nod and quickly got reacquainted with them. With steady hands, he dressed in the clothes she had provided and then he left.

He slipped through the night like a shadow. The weather was on his side, the sky overcast and the moon hidden. With his swords strapped to his back, he entered the water. He had missed it, he realized, tasting the salt on his lips. He breathed in deeply, taking the air into his lungs, and then began to swim.

He kept below the surface for long stretches of time, his chest burning. He never came up for longer than a heartbeat to gather more air. He swam slowly and methodically. When he reached the hull of the ship, he stayed there against it for over an hour, listening to the conversations on the deck, counting in his head. There had been a decent quantity of boats on the beach, and while more men had remained back than usual, it was not a huge number. For each voice he heard speak, he added a name to his list.

As the night grew longer and darker, the voices began to fade. Several men shuffled below deck to sleep, their words audible through the gunports. Even those voices eventually faded. The lamps were still on in the captain's cabin, though he was not close enough to see anything through the windows.

Once the ship was as quiet as it would be, he hoisted himself up by one of the ropes hanging over the rail, careful to make no sound. His arms burned with the slowness of it, but this was the most precarious part. He could see a man up in the crow's nest, but he could not tell who it was. The best of them – Shatterstar, Sharpeye and Wildcry – were either dead or soon to be if he fucked this up. 

He entered _The Wildways_ by one of the gunports, slipping inside as the others slept. He could traverse the crew's quarters blind, he'd lived in it so long, and he did, moving in the dark, silent and barefoot. He thought briefly about slaying each man in his hammock, but he decided not to, for better or for worse.

There was only one man who had to die by his hand tonight. 

He had almost made it to the upper deck undiscovered when he felt a blade press to his throat. 

"What are you doing here?" Bloodblade asked, warm in his ear, close enough that his lips brushed it. Shatterstar hadn't felt his presence, hadn't known he was there. He stood behind him, on his left side, where his vision was the most limited. Shatterstar realized he'd likely been matching his footsteps. 

"I'm here to kill Mojo," Shatterstar replied, taking the chance. His gut told him he was right about this. 

"About fucking time you are." Bloodblade took his dagger back and stepped around into his line of sight. If he hadn't been grinning like a madman – and he was, the slice of his smile cutting through the darkness – Shatterstar would have been disappointed. "You are the most stubborn bastard alive."

"If you had met Richter personally, you would know how untrue that statement is," he replied.

"Someday, you'll tell me everything that happened with him, but right now, we have a captain to kill."

* * *

In the end, it was almost too easy. 

It turned out it that was Killfire in the crow's nest. Bloodblade whistled softly, and Killfire came down the shrouds. He barked at one of the men on deck to replace him and the man did so without question. He and Bloodblade conversed for a moment, too low for Shatterstar to hear from his hiding spot. Killfire glanced once in his direction but otherwise gave no outward indication that he had seen him. 

There was still the matter of staging a mutiny. 

Bloodblade, who had always been more friendly with the other crew than he'd been, felt it could go in either direction. "He has us all fucked up in the head," Bloodblade admitted with an easy shrug when Shatterstar brought the matter up to him. "We might be alone, or we might have the whole of them behind us. We'll give them a choice – a _real_ one – and if they choose wrongly, we kill them."

In Bloodblade's estimation, they could count on Killfire and likely Moonhammer, but the other still-living named men would resist them. Firststrike had died during their last encounter, which Bloodblade seemed sad about. Gunrage – the third longest-serving member of _The Wildways_ – remained loyal to Mojo, from what Bloodblade could tell of it. "He has never liked nor trusted me," Bloodblade told him.

"I can't imagine why," Shatterstar replied, unable to help himself, and Bloodblade grinned widely. 

Bloodblade, in his frank way, swaggered up to the men guarding the captain's cabin. "We're mutinying," he informed them cheerfully, "so you're either with us or against us. Make your decision. Shatterstar has come to kill the Captain himself, and I'm more than happy to oblige. What say you?"

Four of the six turned on him, but the other two looked over at Shatterstar as he revealed himself and made the right choice. From there, chaos reigned over the ship. The cries of the man in the crow's nest rousing them from their slumber, the sleeping crew members woke. Killfire and Bloodblade met each man as he tried to climb on deck, giving them their options and striking down any who opposed them. 

Shatterstar handled the men already awake, methodical in his precision. The swords were as lethal as he had hoped they would be, quick and painless. He could hear people shouting from the water as men began to trickle in from their night of leisure, but he left that issue to the two guards who had turned. 

Instead, he went to the captain's cabin, where Mojo was sitting at his desk with a pistol pointed at him.

Domo, likewise, was similarly armed. 

Shatterstar really disliked guns.

He was keenly aware of the cabin boys, still in their serving clothes, standing together in the corner. He wanted them to live. The damage done to them could still be undone. If someone had saved him then, when he was still a child, perhaps he would have not grown to be this violent mockery of a man. 

Mojo looked at him and tsked. "Too much like your father," he said with that wide, unending smile spread on his jaundiced face. "I knew you would betray me. Didn't I, Domo? I always knew it would be you. It had to be. You have acted your role beautifully. Bravo. You are truly my greatest treasure."

"I am here to kill you," Shatterstar told him. "I am not yours anymore."

"You will always be mine," Mojo replied with a laugh. "No matter what happens, you will always remember that you were mine." He clapped his hands together. "You are as I made you. And don't worry. I'm not angry. In fact, I forgive you. It's in your blood to betray. Your father was the same way."

"Did you kill him? Did you kill my mother?"

Mojo laughed again, delighted. "Does it matter? The stories say I did. I loved hearing every one of them." He centred his pistol on Shatterstar's chest. "I gave you a choice as a child, and you picked wisely. I ask you again as a man to stand at my side. Do this of your own will, and you are forgiven."

"No," Shatterstar replied. 

At that moment, two things happened: Mojo shot at him and missed and one of the cabin boys stuck a knife into Domo's back, clean between his ribs, on his left side. As the other boys rallied around the one who had done it, Shatterstar descended on Mojo. It was a quick fight, one-sided, Mojo's pistol already used and useless. A swift death was a mercy that Mojo didn't deserve, but he received it nonetheless. 

Shatterstar looked him in the eyes as he drove his swords through his heart and then it was done.

The cabin boys had taken care of Domo. He lay on his belly, in a pool of blood, eyes open and empty.

Shatterstar checked to make sure they were all unharmed – streaked red with fresh blood, they were otherwise unscathed, thrumming together with a boyish mixture of nerves and excitement – and then he came onto the deck, leaving the door open behind him so the others could see what he had done. 

He thought he would feel good about it – relieved, free – but he felt empty, like he was nothing.

* * *

Shatterstar left the crew to deal with the fallout themselves. He no longer felt part of them, and it wasn't his place to decide their future. Staring out at the slow bloom of dawn, he stood at the aft. Without thinking too much about it, he took off his eye-patch and tossed it into the sea. There was no reason to hide anymore, even though he had not realized that he had been until now. He was glad to be rid of it.

Eventually, Bloodblade stepped up beside him, on his right side. "The ship will need a captain," he said conversationally, arms crossed. His left ear – the one that had been intact, unlike his right – was badly mangled. Shatterstar would stitch it for him later, though it looked like he had a matching set now. 

"You'll make a good one," Shatterstar replied. "The men will follow you."

Bloodblade snorted. "We'll see how many of them stay, once they're free to make their own choices."

"More than you think," Shatterstar replied, knowing he was right. Bloodblade had the same charisma Mojo possessed but without the sadism or cruelty. Shatterstar had known him long enough to be sure that while Bloodblade could be ruthless, he wasn't inhumane. "What will you do with the cabin boys?" 

"See if any of them have families. If not, they'll stay here, with me, till they're of age to make a decision. I'll have grey hairs before long, but they're too young to be set out alone. You know that."

"I do," Shatterstar agreed. "You'll do well at this with the right cast at your side."

Bloodblade's lips thinned. "And I suppose if I ask you to be my quartermaster, you'll say no."

"I'm done with this life," Shatterstar admitted, though it terrified him to live any other way. 

"Fair enough. I understand." Bloodblade grinned suddenly. "Killfire may never forgive you when I ask him in your stead, but it serves him right for having learned how to read. I'll be fine without you."

Shatterstar nodded. They stood like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder. Shatterstar considered what to say next. Mere words of gratitude did not feel like enough for what Bloodblade had done for him. "How long had you been trying to shift my allegiance?" he asked instead, glancing in his direction. 

Bloodblade huffed, ruefully shaking his head. "A decade, if not longer. I knew from the start that you would be the strongest of us, but Mojo had his hooks in you. I thought, if I could be your friend, that you might someday learn to trust me. I'm still not sure that you have, but it's the closest thing to it."

"I do trust you," Shatterstar assured him, then added, with the smallest hint of humour, "as of now."

"I haven't seen my lovely wife for months because of you," Bloodblade added blandly. 

"Ah," Shatterstar said. That explained the mysterious woman. 

Bloodblade turned to him, offering his hand. "We haven't been formally introduced," he said. Shatterstar took it and held onto it, meeting Bloodblade's intense gaze. "My name is Adam Neramani. Don't ask me to spell it because I know I can't. My friends call me Adam X, or just Adam, if you like."

"Benjamin Blaire," Shatterstar said, just as honest, "though the name means nothing to me."

"It may someday still," Adam told him, clasping him on the shoulder with his free hand. "When I was a child of ten, _The Wildways_ attacked my family's ship. We'd always sailed together, looking for adventures. Unfortunately, my parents were aristocrats with no instinct for danger. By the time it was all over, they were dead, but I'd killed six of Mojo's men. He gave me my choice, and I made it."

" _The Extreme_ ," Shatterstar said, the image of the ship coming suddenly to mind. "I remember it."

"Thank you for that," Adam said sincerely. "There were times I thought I had made it all up."

Shatterstar inclined his head, and Adam dropped his hand to give him a hug instead. Though it felt strange, Shatterstar accepted the embrace and the comfort Adam intended in it. He even returned it. Adam looked at him with a crooked smile, patted him once on the cheek then stepped out of his space. 

"What will you do, if you're not a pirate?" he asked. Shatterstar hesitated, and Adam's grin grew wider. "Let it be known that it was me who tidied the room after you absconded with Richter. Assuming he's not dead – and knowing your mind is your greatest weapon, I doubt he is – I expect you have unfinished business with him. If he'll have you" – Adam leered gleefully – "and I imagine he will."

"That is not for me to decide," Shatterstar admitted, ignoring him, "but... I hope so."

"Me too," Adam said, patting him on the face again. "I do love a happy ending." 

Shatterstar swatted him away this time, annoyed, but it just spurred Adam on like it always had. That, at least, would never change, but everything else... he barely knew how to feel. It was overwhelming.

* * *

Shatterstar gathered his meagre belongings, took his final payout and endured one last hug from Adam and then he went back to Nassau. He returned all the books he had borrowed from Cecilia. Word moved fast among the people there, and he could tell by her face that she was surprised to see him.

"Would you stay for tea?" she asked and invited him into her home.

They talked for longer than they ever had before about a variety of topics, Doctor McCoy's book most of all. The ideas were radical and absurd, but they both agreed they liked them anyway. He detailed his treatment of Julio's wound and the combination of ingredients for the poultices he had used. He showed her his own wounds. The front scar was among the nicest he had, but the back one was... crudely done.

"Well, it was a good attempt," she said, without much meaning behind her words. 

He let her examine his eye after she asked if she could. They moved to the window, where the light was the best, and he allowed her to scrutinize him. It was uncomfortable – not just physically – but he endured it. Finally, she sat back and gave the options. She could perform surgery... or he could let it be. 

"Couching is possible," she told him, "or I could attempt an extraction. Both come with risks."

"I will think about it," he decided. He still had one good eye, and it had served him well. 

His second stop was at Nathan's home. He knocked on his door, and when it opened, Nathan stared at him as if he'd just seen a dead man on his stoop. Shatterstar didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. He let Nathan feel the emotions he needed to in order to get through this moment. Finally, Nathan turned around and said gruffly, speaking to the wall, "make yourself useful and peel the potatoes." 

"Mojo is dead," Shatterstar said. "I killed him myself."

"Good for you," Nathan replied. "I still need you to peel the fucking potatoes."

Shatterstar helped Nathan with dinner, though he had never cooked a meal in his entire life. It was satisfying, in a very simple way, and he took comfort in the fact that Nathan let him be. Nathan had always just let him be himself, from the first day Shatterstar had shown up, looking for the smithy. Years had gone by since then, and Nathan had never asked him to be anything other than who he was. 

When the hour grew late, Shatterstar finally asked the question that had been on his tongue all evening. "I gave your name to someone," Shatterstar said quietly, breaking the amiable silence between them. He felt awkward about it now, but it had to be done. The alternative – never seeing Julio again because he was too cowardly to ask for a favour – was unbearable. "If a letter should arrive for me... if it ever does... if you could hold onto it for me..."

"And where will you be in the meantime?" 

Shatterstar shrugged. "I have no home," he admitted, ignoring the bitter twist in his stomach. It had been his choice, he reminded himself fiercely. "I don't know where I will go, but I'm no longer a pirate. Bloodblade... _Adam_... is the Captain now, and I... it doesn't feel right anymore. That is not who I am."

Nathan grunted, low in his throat. "Wait for your own damn letter. Here. For as long as you need it."

Shatterstar looked over at him, meeting his determined gaze and returning it. The truth was that the future terrified him in a way he had never known before, and he felt lost and small in the world. Without _The Wildways_ and Mojo pulling his strings, what was he? _Who_ was he? And if Julio never sent word...

Well, Shatterstar wouldn't blame him. Emotions had run high between them, the situation intense. 

Whatever happened now with that part of things was out of Shatterstar's control, but the rest was still very much within his power to decide. 

Shatterstar inclined his head slightly, accepting the offer, and Nathan nodded. He took him to a small room in the back, filled with scraps of metal and a single bare cot. Nathan left then returned with blankets and three sets of clean clothing. "Tell me if you need anything," Nathan said and left again.

Shatterstar sat on that mattress, surrounded by four walls and a door that closed, for a long time before he finally laid down. And it was longer still until he finally slept, curled on his side, his chest aching.

* * *

Time passed. He worked with Nathan in his workshop when he could, learning his trade. He made a dagger for himself. Though it was deeply flawed, he kept it anyway because he was proud of his work. In return, he helped Nathan expand upon ideas on how to improve the apparatus supporting his arm. 

He also took Nathan's instruction in the kitchen, memorizing each spice by name and learning how to butcher meat. He made nothing particularly adventurous, but it was all edible at the very least. 

One afternoon, he found himself inexplicably mourning Moremeat. That happened now, at random times, as small things reminded him of moments better left forgotten. If Nathan thought anything of his random bouts of grief, he didn't say anything, but sometimes, he put his hand on Shatterstar's back. 

Shatterstar cut his hair. Still long enough to cover his eye if needed, it was no longer halfway down his back. He grew a beard, the same shocking orange on his head, and learned to accept the stares when people saw the mark on his face. Nathan had never commented on it or the milky colour of his eye.

He visited with Cecilia for tea and conversation. Michelle, Adam's wife, called on him several times, with offers of work. Nothing illegal or violent – and never anything that required a single sword, let alone two – but just common actions to help others when their bodies could not do it for them. It was how they worked, with people they trusted. He found out they called themselves the Cadre Alliance. 

Three times, he was attacked in the streets, by men trying to show off, determined to prove something, to make a name for themselves. Three times, he was forced to kill again, and he at least did it quickly. 

He had nightmares about Mojo. Nathan would sit with him by the forge, silent, until he recovered. 

No letters arrived, not for Nathan and not for him. 

Adam stopped by when he could with stories of his own and ideas for weapons so beyond the norm that Nathan even laughed once, pushing Adam's grinning face away and dismissing his nonsense. Each time he left, Shatterstar had to stop himself from going with him. His logical brain knew that returning to _The Wildways_ would do nothing to stop the sadness in him, but his primal brain remained skeptical. 

Nathan spoke, sometimes, of his wife and his child, and Shatterstar listened to him intently.

In a way, they grieved together. Though it was mostly unspoken, Shatterstar felt like it helped. 

Shatterstar spoke about Julio to him, even though he knew he risked censure, but Nathan merely accepted the words with a grunt. He kept the story in his own point of view, guarding Julio's secrets as much as he could, but when he talked about him, he knew his voice softened and betrayed everything. 

He began to think this life would be enough.

But then he returned one day from the market, clutching a basket of fresh vegetables, and found Nathan with a letter in his hand. He handed it over then took the vegetables and disappeared into the back of the house. It was sealed with green wax and tied with twine. Shatterstar carefully unfolded the paper.

There were no words, just a hand-drawn map and a bold X scratched in the centre of it. In the corner, Julio had drawn a fish with a stick through it. Otherwise, there was no indication who had sent it or where it had come from. Though the map was crudely done, he thought he knew where it pointed to. 

Three nights later, Nathan helped him pack, asking for no promises, but Shatterstar told him he'd write anyway. Adam and _The Wildways_ were anchored in the water, waiting for him, and he joined the crew for one final journey together. There were a few new faces and many old ones. Adam grinned at him.

"I knew you'd figure out what to do with your prick someday," he said, thumping him on the back.

Shatterstar considered swimming to Julio instead. 

It took a week and a half of sailing to get to where the map led. They left him there on the beach, with Adam's promise that they'd come to pick up his sorry corpse if things went sour. Shatterstar rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny his own doubts. The letter had been sent months ago, slow to get to him. 

Anything could happen in such a time frame. He was living proof of it. 

He watched as _The Wildways_ headed towards the horizon, growing smaller and smaller, then he gathered his things and looked at the map again, even though he had it memorized. In town, he had a quick meal and bought a horse. Determined to make it to Julio before sunset, he headed north. 

He had never actually ridden a horse before. It was just another new thing in a long list of them.

* * *

Just when he thought he would never find it, a cabin came into view. There was no sign of anyone human, but a cow grazed nearby and there was a group of chickens in a fenced off area. Shatterstar dismounted as he got closer, guiding the horse in by the reigns and leading it to another enclosed area of land. He brought his horse to a trough of water alongside another mare. She nosed at him curiously. 

He knocked on the door, but no one answered. Just as he turned, Julio came round the house and stopped in his tracks, staring at him. _He's changed so much_ was Shatterstar's first thought, his unease giving way to happiness. Julio's face had filled out, his skin losing its pallor, and he'd shaved off his beard. Damp, his hair curled around his shoulders, loose. He'd been eating, Shatterstar noticed, and well. Where he had looked slight and starved before, Shatterstar saw now how sturdy he was. 

"You came," Julio breathed as if he hadn't expected him to.

"I said I would," Shatterstar replied. "I only received your letter a few weeks ago."

"It took me longer than I want to admit to get settled and then longer still to find a messenger who I actually trusted to deliver it," Julio confessed. He looked up at him. "I'm glad it found you," he said with a smile, but he made no move towards him. Shatterstar stayed where he was. "Mojo's dead then?"

"Very," Shatterstar assured him. "I killed him myself."

Julio nodded. "Good. I can show you around the place," he added, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

As Julio began to walk, Shatterstar followed and admired him from behind. His breeches clung nicely to his legs and his arse, highlighting the strength in both of them. He looked so wonderfully healthy. 

Julio gestured vaguely in the direction of the animals. "You've met the cow, the horse and the chickens. There's a privy around the back here, should you have need of it." They came to the front again, and Julio paused. "This is the house. One bad storm, and I'm not sure it'll stay standing, but I built it."

"It looks serviceable," Shatterstar commented amiably. 

"That is the kindest thing anyone may ever say about it," Julio said, opening the door and waiting for Shatterstar to enter. Inside, there was a table and two chairs, a stove, two large chests and a bed. Julio stayed by the door, looking uneasy. "So this is the rest. I know it's not much, but it keeps the rain out. You can use one of the chests," he added. "We can decide later what we want to do about the bed..."

"Our bed," Shatterstar corrected him. 

Julio's gaze snapped in his direction, startled, dark eyes wide with uncertainty. 

"Is it not?" he asked, wondering if he had misread the situation. "Or have you changed your mind?"

"I didn't want to presume," Julio replied. "It was an emotional night. I wouldn't hold you to..."

"Our bed," Shatterstar repeated, cutting him off. "Our home. Our life. If you want it."

"I do," Julio assured him. Whatever fear had griped his body finally left him. When Shatterstar stepped towards him, Julio met him there, putting his hands on Shatterstar's face and kissing him. Shatterstar felt his own tension ease, and he melted into him, slipping a hand under Julio's shirt, against his skin. 

From there, it felt natural to pull Julio's clothes off. He looked even healthier naked, his skin tanned and toned, his prick as lovely as Shatterstar remembered it. He ran his hands reverently over Julio's body, licking into his mouth. Julio pushed into his touch with a heady moan, his fingers tightening in Shatterstar's hair. Blindly, they stumbled towards the bed and came down upon it with a heavy thump.

The frame cracked beneath them, and the mattress crashed to the floor.

"Fuck," Julio groaned into Shatterstar's mouth. "Not even at the best part, and this piece of shit broke."

"What best part?" Shatterstar asked, gripping Julio's cock and stroking it, watching the face Julio made when he did it. He was still fully clothed and found he liked it almost as well as being naked. Julio looked at him, gaze hot, and Shatterstar smiled. "The part where I fuck you? Is that the best part?"

Shatterstar spread Julio's legs and settled between them, still touching his prick. He nipped at his jaw to get the answer he wanted. "Yes, yes," Julio gasped in complete agreement, lifting his hips. Shatterstar kept the pace of his hand steady, enjoying how Julio undulated below him with increasing frequency. 

"Have you brought yourself off in this bed thinking of me?" Shatterstar asked, kissing him. Julio nodded, thighs spread wide. It was a powerful feeling to have him like this. "I have spent the last two months in a smithy, but for the two before that, I was in a brothel. Both places, I thought of you often."

Julio combed his hands through Shatterstar's hair and smiled at him. "That sounds like a story."

"For another day," Shatterstar agreed. "Will you let me use my tongue on you again?"

"Ah, fuck," Julio said and came all over Shatterstar's hand with a groan. Shatterstar left him there on the bed, languid and satisfied, and finally undressed. Julio watched him through hooded eyes, tongue moving slowly over his lips. When Shatterstar came over him, he touched his hand to Shatterstar's side. 

"I recovered well from it," Shatterstar assured him as Julio palmed his scar, double-checking.

They kissed for a while, slow and dreamy, with Julio on his back, one leg hooked around Shatterstar's hip. Once they were thoroughly reacquainted, Shatterstar rolled Julio onto his belly and spread his legs. He balled up one of the blankets and stuffed it under his hips, tilting them and opening him up. One of his favourite memories was how candidly Julio had responded the first time he had kissed him there.

He was ready to see if he could improve upon his performance. 

With each lick, Julio moaned deeply, pushing back at him, asking for more. Shatterstar was happy to oblige. He had a beautiful arse, the cheeks round and firm, the puckered centre of him sensitive to every stroke and press of Shatterstar's tongue. Julio took two fingers easily, slick with Shatterstar's spit, and Shatterstar's aching prick longed to push inside him and feel that same heat, that same tightness. 

"Are you close to spending?" Shatterstar asked, biting one of his arse cheeks. 

"Fuck, yes, don't stop."

"I won't," he promised, "but do you want my prick instead?" 

"Are you flexible enough to manage both?" Julio asked with a dazed laugh, glancing back at him, and Shatterstar shook his head solemnly, trying not to smile. He squeezed Julio's arse again. "Your prick then. You looked like you enjoyed mine. It would be a shame to deny me the same experience."

"I did," Shatterstar assured him, kissing the side of his head. "Do you have oil?"

"In my trunk," Julio replied, crossing his feet at the ankles and watching appreciatively as Shatterstar stood to retrieve it. They would have to talk about everything else eventually, but it was good to know that they liked each other and would enjoy each other's physical company. "Will your prick even last?"

Shatterstar slicked himself with oil. "We shall see," he admitted. 

Julio rolled onto his back, and Shatterstar took one of his legs and placed it over his shoulder. Slowly, he pushed inside, keeping his eye on Julio's face, checking for discomfort, but his face remained happy, his mouth making pleased little noises with each inch he took. When Shatterstar was seated fully inside, he stopped for a moment to gather his bearings. Julio smiled fondly up at him, touching his face.

"You almost spent," he said.

"I did," Shatterstar agreed, bending down to kiss him. Julio met his lips, lifting up into him, sliding in his tongue. Shatterstar almost spiralled again, just from that, and pushed Julio gently away even though he protested throatily. "Give me another moment, and I'll fill you for sure in all senses of the word."

Once Shatterstar was ready, he fucked Julio with abandon. If the bed hadn't broken before, it would have then, but the mattress on the floor served its purpose. Julio took his prick, tight around him, and kept his arms around Shatterstar's back, holding him close. When he could hold back no longer, Shatterstar pumped into him one last time and spent, the feeling almost overwhelming. Still deep inside him, he had the presence of mind to curl his hand around Julio's cock and stroke him to completion.

Eventually, they separated, but they did not stray far. They fell asleep, side by side, together.

* * *

Shatterstar woke to the sun shining across his eye. In the room in Nathan's house, there had been no window, and the crew's quarters on _The Wildways_ had always been dim. This would be another new thing. He hoped they could get coverings for the window, or he'd be up with the rooster every day. 

He sat up but didn't stray far from Julio, remaining cross-legged in bed, playing with Julio's hair. Other than the sound of the animals and Julio's soft breathing, he heard nothing. It felt... peaceful. He felt at peace. He would have to warn Julio about the nightmares, about his periods of melancholy, but his soul was healing. He was sure that Julio would understand. It was likely that he suffered the same.

After a while, Julio yawned and slowly woke, drowsily looking up at him. He reached out a hand, touching it to Shatterstar's hip, stroking him softly. "Not regretting your decision already?" he asked.

"No," he assured him. "Though we have many things to talk about."

"We do," Julio agreed, sitting up and settling behind him, resting his cheek against Shatterstar's back. "But we have time. To my family, I'm as good as dead, and with Mojo gone... there's no rush for any of it. Except, perhaps, a new bed," he added, making a face. "Did you find the truth about your parents?" 

"No, not yet. Even at his end, Mojo would not stray from his story."

"I'll help you if you want me to. There must be a record somewhere of what happened to them."

"Thank you," Shatterstar said, squeezing the arm Julio had slid around his waist. 

"I'm not quite awake yet, so if you want to tell me why you spent two months living in a brothel, this is the best time to do it. My mind is racing with the idea," Julio murmured, leaning into him. "You're already beyond my expectations in bed, but I'm not sure if that's natural aptitude or experience." 

"Natural aptitude," Shatterstar assured him, "though I have spent much of my life listening to pirates brag."

"Lucky for me," Julio said and kissed him on the shoulder blade.

Shatterstar smiled. With Julio pressed tightly against him, Shatterstar told him everything that had happened between then and now, holding nothing back. It made for an unbelievable story. In time, he knew it would become twisted, but he gave Julio the most honest version of it. That had always served him well when it came to Julio, and there was no reason to hold back now, in their new circumstances.

Once he was done telling it, Julio stretched around and kissed him. 

They fucked again, slow and lazy, then got up for the day. That quickly became part of their routine.

As time passed, he learned how to milk a cow, feed horses, and collect eggs from the chickens. They didn't bother to rebuild the bed until either of them learned how to make a sturdy one. Julio had a single book on carpentry, which they both poured over whenever they had free time, trying to solve the mystery, but they were just as happy to fuck on the mattress and sleep together there every night.

They talked. They talked about everything. Conversation between them felt easy even when it was hard, and Shatterstar was pleased to discover how much they had in common and how compatible they were, both in and out of bed. He'd suspected that would be the case, but it was nice to have proof. 

Nightmares came and went, for both of them, and they argued sometimes, both too strong-willed to admit they were wrong, but it was never cruel. The anger that had lived in Shatterstar his entire life had gone somewhere he could no longer reach. He missed the water, but that was all he missed. 

There was a river by the cabin, and they swam and bathed there on occassion. It helped fill the void. 

That, and how Julio smiled at him at random times throughout the day, whether Shatterstar was looking or not. Shatterstar, likewise, found himself doing the same. It made for a good life, and he was determined to get the most out of it. He was no longer hollow, no longer afraid of the future. He was just a man now.

And he was happy. 

They both were.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Additional Warnings** :
> 
>  _Graphic Depictions of Violence_ : due to the time period, there is a fair amount of violence. There is one semi-graphic beheading. Shatterstar acts as a weapon for Mojo and as such, occasionally commits violence he is opposed to against others. One incident affects him more deeply than the others. 
> 
> _Abuse_ : Shatterstar joins _The Wildways_ crew at roughly ten years of age. Though Shatterstar never says the word, the abuse is physical, mental and emotional. There is no sexual abuse, though Mojo does make an attempt to demand Shatterstar act sexually against his will.
> 
>  _Cruelty_ : Mojo and Major Domo are both exceptionally cruel men in this. While all the crew members of _The Wildways_ are manipulated by them for their entertainment, Shatterstar is particularly so. This is a story of discovery, and as Shatterstar discovers the truth, he also discovers the depths of Mojo's depravity. 
> 
> _Implied/Referenced Torture_ : Mojo physically tortures Rictor for information, though for the most part the torture is only alluded to and the worst of it stops after Rictor falls ill. There are no graphic details given, but the one thing that Mojo continues to do throughout the story is carefully control his food intake in order to keep him physically weak. Shatterstar is involved in this for a variety of reasons. 
> 
> **Author's Notes** :
> 
> Books I read as research:  
>  _Under the Black Flag: The Romance and Reality of Life Among the Pirates_ by David Cordingly  
>  _Sodomy and the Pirate Tradition: English Sea Rovers in the Seventeenth-Century Caribbean_ by B.R. Burg  
>  _Villains of All Nations: Atlantic Pirates in the Golden Age_ by Marcus Rediker
> 
> I made frequent use of the [Online Etymology Dictionary](https://www.etymonline.com/) when I questioned my own use of a word. Assuming this story takes place in the early 1720s, _(ass) cheek_ , _paradigm_ and _haphazard_ were all in, while _sorry_ , _pants_ and _adrenaline_ were all out. 
> 
> The only time I've ever needed a Mojoworld name generator: this story. It does not exist. I looked.


End file.
